Promise of the Discworld
by Magi Tail Welkin
Summary: In the land of Ingary, on the Discworld, where reality and fantasy are closer than some may wish, Sophie Hatter attracts the unwelcome attentions of both the dreaded Wizard Howl and the terrifying Witch of the Waste. There's a war coming too. And the eldest girls don't get fairy godmothers. (Based on the works by Terry Pratchett, Diana Wynne Jones, and Hayao Miyazaki.)
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time the idea of a universe seemed utterly impossible.

Compared to the black infinity, which from the outside is in truth a duck-egg blue, a giant turtle with four elephants on its shell, and the elephants themselves carrying a revolving flat planet on their shoulders without suffering any fiction burn, seems almost sane. Still, this hasn't stopped scientists from calculated the chances of such a world existing, concluding it is a million-to-one. And this has not stop wizards from discovering Million-to-one chances happen nine times out of ten.

This is because the Discworld exists right on the edge of reality. The smallest things can break through to the other side. So, on the Discworld, people take things seriously.

Like stories.

Because stories are important.

People think people shape stories. In fact, it's also the other way around. It works in both ways. Stories shape people and people shape the story.

Stories exist independently of their players. If you know it, the knowledge is power.

How effective this power depends on who else knows it and other possible factors, such as real life.

Take for example, Miss Sophie Hatter, the eldest of three daughters, a citizen of the Kingdom of Ingary, in the large expansive region of the Discworld called Octarine Grass Country and into the Ramtop Mountains. A place where everyone knows the eldest child will fail if they try to seek their fortune.

It should be noted to most people outside the region, the idea of any significant kingdoms existing in the Octarine Grass Country and the turnwise Ramtops is virtually a myth. This is due to the strange geography of these areas.

Kingdoms do exist in the Ramtops, and to say they lack geography is a lie. Indeed, the largest and most well-known, Lancre, has been described as having too much geography. The only trouble is, much of it is vertical. As such if any ruler were to offer their daughter and half their kingdom to the young farm boy who manages to slay the monster, there would be nothing left for the King.

And in the hilly, broken area which, because of the strange tint in the local flora, is called Octarine Grass Country, the magical properties of its soil mean nearly everyone is too busy to consider government. For example, it is one of the few places on the Disc where plants produced re-annual varieties, plants which grow backwards in time. You sow the seeds this year and they grow last year.

This does not mean the people of Octarine Grass Country are idiots, far from it, if not they wouldn't be able to live there. The best farmers of the region are very introspective with the calendars and weather forecasts and need a keen sense of timing, as a farmer who fails to sow the harvest he's already collected risks disturbing the space-time continuum, not to mention acute embarrassment.

The almost prejudiced view of Octarine Grass Country as an undeveloped yokel backwater is mainly due to the first main settlement you enter by road. Sheepridge, not far from the Chalk and the Upper Ankh River. It's not even a one-horse town, as if anyone owned a horse, it would've been eaten. The residents made a living by stealing one another's washing, and its town square can hardly be called such, more an enlarged crossroads with a clocktower, it does have a tavern though, so important a place it got rebuilt after an explosive fire, with a cellar too. Although depending when you enter it might just make you view of the place worse.

Further inland, or hubwards, towards the Ramtops and the centre of the Disc, or at the mouth of rivers between Pseudopolis and Llamedos, more substantial towns exist.

The Hatter family were not, as might be expected, poor woodcutters. Sophie's parents ran a well to do ladies' hat shop in the prosperous town of Market Chipping, set in the Folding Valley in the foothills of the Ramtops.

True, her own mother died when with her at the age of two and her sister Lettie as an infant, their father married his young shop assistant, a pretty blonde name Fanny. Fanny later gave birth to the third sister, Martha. This should have made Sophie and Lettie into the Ugly Stepsisters, but in fact all three girls grew quite pretty. Sophie inherited her biological mother's strawberry blonde hair, or as she would put it red gold. Martha, though only twelve when this story begins already attracted young boys, none of them dared put frogs down her blouse or steal the wheels off her toy pram. Everyone considered Lettie a local beauty. And Fanny treated all three girls with equal kindness and never favoured Martha.

Mr Hatter, proud of his three daughters, sent them to the best school in town. Sophie proved the most studious. She read a great deal, and soon realised how little were her chances at an interesting life. Disappointing maybe, but she still lived happily enough, since Fanny always worked busily in the shop Sophie looked after her sisters and grooming Martha to seek her fortune when the time came. Lettie by no means resigned herself to being bound by Narrative Causality.

"It's not fair!" she would shout, "Why should Martha have the best of it just because she was born the youngest? I shall marry a prince, so there!"

Martha always retorted she herself would end up disgustingly rich without having to marry anybody. Then Sophie would have to drag them apart and mend their clothes, and quite deft with her needle, later she made clothes for her sisters too. The deep rose outfit for Lettie the May Day before this story really starts, Fanny said looked like it came from the most expensive shop in Kingsbury, the capital of Ingary, high up in an isolated plateau of the Ramtops.

About this time everyone began talking of the Witch of the Waste again. Threating the life of the King's daughter and the King commanded one of his finest wizards, Sir Benjamin Suliman, Baronet, to go into the Waste and deal with the Witch. It seemed not only did he failed, he got himself killed.

A few months after, a tall off-balanced, black castle, elevated on four spindly legs, appeared on the hills above Market Chipping, blowing clouds of black smoke from its four tall and thin turrets. What made it scarier, the castle did no stay in the same place. Sometime a small smudge on the moors hubwards and turnwise, sometimes it reared above the rocks to the widdershins, and other times right downhill to sit in the heather only just beyond the last hubwards farm. You could see it moving sometimes, the leg movements resembling a lizard, with smoke pouring out from the turrets in dirty grey gusts. For a while everyone feared the castle would come right down into the valley before long, and the Mayor talked of sending a message to the King asking for help.

But the castle stayed roving about the hills, and before long people learned it belonged to the Wizard Howl, not the infamous Witch of the Waste as everyone terrifyingly speculated. But soon people talk about the Wizard Howl being a nasty piece of work. An official statement from the Archchancellor of Unseen University, the foremost school for wizards appeared in the papers saying no wizard, not even in the past who studied, let alone passed any exam at UU went by the name of Howl, and Professor Stibbons doubled checked on any variations. Many in Ingary speculated he must have come from their own Royal Sorcery Academy, but no statement from them came at all, this only added to the speculation about Howl. Though he did not seem to want to leave the hills, rumour spread of his amusements, such as collecting young girls and eating their hearts, and soon enough the addition of pretty got included. No girl in Market Chipping could go out alone, which annoyed them greatly.

Other things came to mind before long for the Hatter girls. Mr Hatter died suddenly, just as Sophie reach the appropriate age to leave school for good. And it soon became apparent Mr Hatter felt too proud of his daughter. The school fees he paid left the shop in heavy debts.

When the formalities of the funeral ended Fanny sat the girls down in the parlour of the house connected to the shop, where many of the staff kept their day clothes or sewed in the cottage industry fashion, to explain the situation.

"You'll all have to leave that school, I'm afraid. I've been doing sum back and front and sideways, and the only way I can see keep the business going and take care of the three of you is too settle you in promising apprenticeships. It isn't practical to have you all in the shop. I can't afford it. So, this is what I've decided." She looked to Sophie. "Now it seems only right and just that you Sophie should inherit the hat shop when I retire, being the eldest as you are, so you'll be apprenticed by Bessie. How do you feel about that?"

Sophie could hardly say, she still felt resigned to the hat trade. So, she thanked her stepmother gratefully. Fanny smiled "No, thank you Sophie, the shop meant almost as much to your Father as you three did.", Fanny then addressed Lettie and Martha. "As for you two my dears, that is a bit more difficult, I've made arrangements with Cesari's, the pastry cook in Market Square. They've a name for treating their learners like kings and queens, either of you should be very happy there, as well as learning a useful trade. Mrs Cesari's a good customer and a good friend, and she's agreed to squeeze one of you in as a favour."

Lettie and Martha shared a glance at each other, Lettie turned back. "And the last apprenticeship Mother?"

"Yes, Miss Perspicacia Tick has arrived in town looking for promising girls."

A worried frown came across Martha. "She's a witch, isn't she?"

Fanny sighed. "Yes, but she also a witch-finder. She looks in the regions which are hostile to witches for girls who have the potential to become witches. A person with the gifts of a witch but without the opportunity to develop them can be an unhappy, even dangerous, girl. I imagine that's how the Witch of the Waste started. Miss Tick is not like other witches, most notably is that she was educated at the Quirm College for Young Ladies, they've taught the Duchesses of Ankh, Quirm and Sto Helit, as well as Georgina Bradshaw. And more specifically she's looking for an apprentice for Mistress Tiffany Aching, the Witch of the Chalk, she advices the ruling Baron, who is also by marriage going to inherit the land of Keepsake, and Mistress Aching knows the Queen of Lancre very well."

Sophie, listening, felt Fanny worked everything out just as it should be, she could practically predict the outcome. Lettie, who is thought to be probably the most pretty of the three, as the second daughter, would never likely amount to much, so she wouldn't be picked as the apprentice witch and Fanny would put her where she might meet a handsome young apprentice and live happily ever after.

Martha as the youngest and the best chance to have magic, would be bound to strike out and make her fortune, would have witchcraft and rich friends to help her.

* * *

Next day Miss Tick arrived at the house. She apologised from being late as she needed to find a place to park her cavern and tether her mule, Joseph, to graze. Fanny pretended said cavern and mule didn't exist, it did not suit someone who would have been in the same classroom as Lady Sybil Vimes, the Duchess of Ankh, to consort with mules.

Miss Tick resembled an old and friendly female teacher with a black witch's attire superimposed onto her. Skinny with a sharp and thin nose. She didn't have any jewellery, nor any broom about her person. At first it seemed she didn't have the pointed hat, not until Fanny made the girls promise not to announce Miss Tick's status as a witch in fear of causes riots in town. Only then did the toad on her hat release a spring lock and the point unwound like coiled spring upward in prefect form. The Toad, happened to be a magical lawyer, and member of the Guild of Lawyers of Ankh-Morpork, Mr James Natter, or Natter Jack, his toad form came about due to a lawsuit against a Fairy Godmother.

Sophie kept out of the way, she simply looked on as she began to dampen and mould a new hat, she did know a lot about the trade already.

Fanny introduced Lettie and Martha to Miss Tick. Both Lettie and Martha looked unsure but interested as Miss Tick explained an important rule.

"It not all whizzing about on broomsticks and waving wand, no matter what Letice Earwig says, it's got a lot of grime and dirt. Witches don't use magic unless they really must. It's hard work and difficult to control. It is not a toy. We do other things. A witch pays attention to everything that's going on. A witch uses her head. A witch is sure of herself. A witch always has a piece of string…"

Sophie without saying anything picked up a pair of the leftover spools of knotted thread. Knotted because near the Ramtops, situated under a thick ley line and with dozens of sharp mountains conducting and earthing the thaumaturgical discharges, random magical occurrences will happen. For example, next door's Hogswatch tree last year seemed to be full of shelled peanuts. And in the Hatter's case threads would get tied with impossible knots every few finger lengths, the worst of these instances you would need to completely unwind the spool and undo every knot from end to the beginning before they would stay unwound. Since Mr Hatter ran a business he couldn't waste workhours, which often spread into spare time, meticulously going through the occasional magically tied thread, so he shelved them and intended to through them away.

Sophie put the spools down and a took a couple of scissors from a draw in the table. Then returned to her corner.

Miss Tick watched her for a moment, then returned to the two girls before her, "Now, let's see if either of you can make a shamble, if you can't do that then you are very unlikely to be a witch, it's not always the case, there are always exceptions, I mean Granny Weatherwax never made one, but this is a tried and tested method of telling. A shamble will give you focus!"

Sophie, listening to this in between measuring and trimming the silk linings, observed Miss Tick spoke in a repeated manner, she must have done this lesson hundreds of times in the, many, years as a witch-finder.

Miss Tick raised her hand in the air, and, something, suddenly appeared in it. One moment nothing, the next she held, something. No flash or sparks. Nothing like what Sophie heard about wizards' magic. It didn't need to be. The air boiled, dancing, fluttering, alive even, and Miss Tick continued, "See how the air moves, see how it waits, it's the place my shamble could be, where it could advise me."

So, Sophie thought, a potential shamble. She looked back again and now Miss Tick held an egg in her hand, with some twigs, thread and a small stone with a hole in it.

Miss Tick's eyes studied the room. Fanny looked with awe, almost like she stood before a god, she looked closer, disgust at the jumble in her grasp. Martha bit her lip and sweat appeared on her brow. Lettie blinked, her eyes shook astounded. And Sophie, she just watched, studying. Miss Tick gave a small nodded and broke the silence with her lecture.

"These items I had about me could make that shamble." She studied all the serious faces and sighed, this always happened, "But now it's time for each of you to male your shamble." She pointed to the egg. "And it must have something living in it. Just shut your eyes and make a shamble out of anything you have with you."

Lettie nodded and started going through her pockets. Martha scratched her head, and somehow pulled out a spider from it, much to her mother's dismay. She briefly glanced to Sophie, using her thread, needles and scraps of cloth. Then to Fanny, she looked to Sophie as well with an air of disappointment and regret, but, even with her experience, learning the truth is still hard. A girl might be useful at home helping raise her younger siblings or working in a family business.

She shook her head. She came to test the younger girls. She could tell both possessed the innate magical talent, she knew her witches. But deciding to train as a witch require more than the talent. Hard work and dedication would most certainly be involved, and even then, it would not be easy. She knew Fanny would support one of the girls, indeed encourage it, but perhaps for the wrong reason. She would talk to Mistress Aching about this.

She could also tell a lot about a girl from the contents of their pockets, and a lot from what they don't have. Miss Tick carried a small cheese in her pocket, you couldn't do good magic without a snack. Out load she advised, "Even a worm is alive, keeping one in a little box with some leaves is fine."

Lettie chuckled. "Like Billy Samsonite." Then she looked aside and got up from her chair to run upstairs. She returned quickly with a small white mouse scurrying around her finger, she comforted it, "It's all right Sooty, it's only for a little while."

Martha turned to Miss Tick. "That's not far, she didn't have her pet mouse on her person."

Miss Tick laughed. "Part of being a witch is being clever, well done Lettie."

Lettie carefully tied the knotted thread around Sooty in a knot meant not to hurt him. Martha struggled with the spider and hairpins. With them distracted Miss Tick looked to Sophie, who currently wafted a fly away, but it kept landing in the mess of spares she assembled on the opposite side of the table.

The room suddenly started to shudder. Lettie and Martha simultaneously looked to their shambles. Then a steam whistle blew. The two girls flinched and turned dejected, Martha blushed. Miss Tick shook her head with a smile, everyone tried to claim reasonability for something, whether it be a flash of lightning, or a sunrise, or a sudden breath of wind. Still, a little self-belief in a witch is a start, it would need to be curbed before it turned to arrogance, or else she could go Cackling.

Lettie gasped as she pulled the thread. Sooty the mouse and the bag of marbles floated a few millimetres of the table.

Miss Tick smiled "Well done.", she turned to Martha and blinked, as soon as the girl pulled hers off it came apart, the spider on a piece of felt scarp floated gently to the floor. The moment the piece hit, a spark of magic escaped Martha's fingers and hit the spool of knotted thread. It turned into an egg timer filled with multicoloured sand. She put her fingers to her mouth.

"Interesting." Miss Tick said "Both of you have got the hang of it. After that it's just a matter of learning, and every day." She then inhaled wryly. "The trouble is, Mistress Aching is only expecting one girl."

Fanny nodded. "And so is Cesari's." She put her hand on Martha's shoulder. "You had the best reaction Martha, I think you should go."

Miss Tick narrowed her eyes. She looked to Lettie, who untied her mouse, making a good attempted at hiding her disappointment and frustration. Then to Sophie, who didn't seem to notice. She just sowed the linings to the hat. The scraps beside her looked slightly rearranged, and the fly remained, but it could have easily been the train's doing.

She got up and talked with Fanny and Martha, she would be leaving, not wanting to stay for too long so close to the territory of the Witch of the Waste.

Sophie paused, she wondered about mentioning the Wizard Howl, but she thought better than to butt into Martha's chances. It would just be rude.

The next day Sophie helped Martha pack her clothes in a box and the morning after they all saw her off following Miss Tick's little wagon on the carrier's cart, looking small, upright and nervous, for the road to the Chalk where Mistress Aching lived.

"She'll be all right," said Lettie. She refused any help when packing. When the witch-finder's party disappeared into the vanishing point, Lettie crammed all her possessions into a pillowcase and paid the neighbour's boot boy sixpence to wheel it in a barrow to Cesari's in Market Square. She marched behind it looking much more cheerful than Sophie expected. Indeed, around her sister hung an air of shaking the dust of the hat shop off her feet.

The boot boy brought back a scribbled note from Lettie saying she put her things in the girls' dormitory and Cesari's seemed great fun. A couple of weeks later the carrier brought a letter from Martha to say she arrived safely and saying things about Mistress Aching being a serious but caring dear, some nonsense about little blue men and the intense stare of Mistress Aching's aged white cat.

Sophie didn't hear from her sisters from quite a while, because she officially started her own apprenticeship the day Martha and Lettie left.

She knew the people who worked there. Most of them the late Mr Hatter remembered from his days a boy. Sophie knew Bessie, the only remaining shop assistant. She knew the customers who bought the hats and the man who drove the cart which fetched raw straw hats in from the country to be shaped on the blocks in the shed. She knew the other suppliers and how you made felt for winter hats. Fanny did not teach her much, except perhaps the best way to get customer to buy a hat.

"You lead up to the right hat, love," Fanny said. "Show them the ones that won't quite do first, so they know the difference as soon as they put the right one on."

In fact, Sophie did not sell hats very much. After a day or so observing in the work shed, and another day going around the clothier and the silk merchants with Fanny, Fanny, set her to trimming hats. Sophie sat in a small room in the back of the shop, indeed leading off the staff workroom, sewing roses to bonnets and veiling to velour, lining all of them with silk and arranging wax fruit and ribbons stylishly on the outsides. And good at it. She liked doing it. But she felt isolated and a little dull.

She could set a watch by the times of the train, which ran directly under her window. The light grey smoke shutting out her light, however she managed to focus on the stitching, even in such reduced light.

The workshop people were too old or too silly to be much fun and besides, they treated her as someone apart who would inherit the business someday. Bessie treated her the same way, and she would only talk about the farmer she would be marrying the week after May Day. Sophie rather envied Fanny, who could bustle of to bargain with the silk merchant whenever she wanted.

The most interesting thing being the talk from the customers. Nobody can buy a hat without gossiping. Sophie sat in her room and stitched overhearing how the Mayor would never eat green vegetables, and Howl's Castle moved around the cliffs again. The voices always dropped low when they talked of the Wizard Howl, but gathered he caught a girl down the valley last month.

"Bluebeard!" said the whispers, and then the voices would resume and say Jane Farrier looked a perfect disgrace the way she did her hair, she would never attract Howl, let alone a respectable man. There would be a fleeting, fearful whisper about the Witch of the Waste. Sophie began to feel the Wizard Howl and the Witch of the Waste should get together.

"They seem to be made for one another. Someone ought to arrange a match," she remarked to the hat she trimmed at the time.

By the end of the month the gossip in the shop became all about Lettie. Cesari's, it seemed, got packed with gentlemen from morning to night, each one buying quantities of cakes and demanding to be served by Lettie. She got ten marriage proposals, ranging in quality from the Mayor's son to the lad who swept the streets, she refused them all, declaring herself too young to make up her mind yet.

"I call that sensible of her," Sophie said to a bonnet she pleated silk into.

Fanny became pleased with the news. "I knew she'd be all right!", it occurred to Sophie, Fanny seemed glad to have Lettie out of the shop.

"Lettie's bad for customers," she told the bonnet, pleating away at the mushroom-coloured silk. "She would make even you look glamorous, you dowdy old thing. Other ladies look at Lettie and despair."

Sophie talked to hats more and more as weeks went by. No one much else to talk to. With Fanny out bargaining or trying to whip up customers much of the day, and Bessie busy serving and telling everyone her wedding plans. Sophie got into the habit of putting each hat on its stand as she finished it, where it sat looking almost like a head without a body and pausing while she told the hat what the body under it ought to be like. She flattered the hats a bit, because you should flatter customers.

"You have a mysterious allure," she told one all veiling with hidden twinkles. To a wide creamy hat with roses under the brim she said, "You are going to have to marry money", and to a caterpillar-green straw with a curly green feather she said, "You are as young as a spring leaf." She told pink bonnets they carried dimpled charm and smart hats trimmed with velvet to be witty. She told the mushroom-pleated bonnet, "You have a heart of gold and someone in a high position will see it and fall in love with you." She felt sorry for this bonnet, it looked so fussy and plain.

Jane Farrier bought the bonnet. Sophie felt more pity when she chose it. About a week before May Day someone asked for a mushroom bonnet like the one Jane Farrier wore when she ran off with the Earl of Cataract. And everyone bought hats and bonnets. Maybe Fanny's sales talks worked, or Springtime, but the hat trade picked up. Fanny turned a little guiltily, "I think I shouldn't have been in such a hurry to get Martha and Lettie placed out. At this rate we might have managed."

New gossip came to the shop. The King quarrelled with his own brother Prince Justin, and the Prince went into exile. Nobody knew the reason for the quarrel, but the Prince supposedly came through Market Chipping in disguise a couple of months back. The Earl of Cataract came by order of the King to look for the Prince when he happened to meet Jane Farrier instead.

Sophie sewed at night, and admitted she lived a dull life. She started wearing a demure grey dress, tied her long strawberry blonde hair into a pony tail with little pink ribbons, primarily so her strands wouldn't get caught in her sowing, and helped in the shop. But the demand meant she would spend most of her time trimming hats. Every evening she finished the orders to be sold next day.

She did not go out. Either she could not find the time or the energy or it seemed a great distance to Market Square, or she remembered not to go on her own lest she come across the Wizard Howl. But she began to think differently. Whenever she helped in the shop no one would strike up a conversation besides her sisters. She didn't get any suitors, could she be the less pretty of the three, as the eldest? She wondered. Could she in fact be ugly? In the black and white family iconographs she noticed more similarities with her late father. She must have a man's face.

Anyway, it seemed odd, every day it seemed more difficult to go and see her sister. She always considered Lettie the strongest minded of the three, but Sophie thought she came close, but now she could only do stuff she wanted when no excuses were left.

"This is absurd," she mussed "It's just a quick tram ride over to Market Square." She decided to go to Cesari's when the hat shop closed early for May Day.

* * *

 **Hello readers.**

 **First, thank you for deciding to read this. Now I can move on to some explanations.**

 **The genesis for this story came when I first attempted to read the original book by the late Dame Diana Wynne Jones. Having become familiar with the** ** _Discworld_** **books with work like** ** _Mort_** **and** ** _Reaper Man_** **I found myself thinking, 'The book** ** _Howl's Moving Castle_** **reads very much like an early** ** _Discworld_** **book,'. I must admit I could not find much enjoyment in my first attempt at reading it, partly due to being at University at the time, but more primarily because of my familiarity with the film by Hayao Miyazaki, being the second Studio Ghibli film, I ever watch, and a favourite of mine, despite the troubled plot.**

 **I let the book lie for a while as I formulated my thought on it and the film, worked through my third year at University, and read and listened (via audiobooks) to more** ** _Discworld_** **books and gained more familiarity with the setting and characters.**

 **Only after re-reading a few of my collection of roughly twenty** ** _Discworld_** **books at least once during a Christmas temporary job as something to do during my breaks, and between acquiring a few more, I pricked up my copy of Dame Diana Wynne Jones's book and read through it properly. And then as I did so, I started finding several things I could do to connect the two stories, and I became determined to incorporate the film as well, so expect many elements from both versions of** ** _Howl's Moving Castle_** **.**

 **I will note to better integrate the writing style of Pratchett and Jones, I am not going to include Pratchett's famous footnotes. I'm sorry if some view that as a disappointment.**

 **Onto the story itself. With my chapter annotations.**

 **It should go without saying the title is a joke on the English translation of the title ending ballad for the film.**

 **I choose to develop Octarine Grass Country as it's a region of the Discworld which has always fascinated me. I feel a little disappointed Sir Terry never returned to it in detail after** ** _Reaper Man_** **, we've had brief details mention of it in** ** _Thud!_** **like how the River Koom runs through and in** ** _Raising Steam_** **, but nothing truly substantial. And despite what some people might say, I have looked through** ** _I Shall Wear Midnight_** **and nowhere in there or in** ** _The Shepherd's Crown_** **does it say Keepsake Hall is in Octarine Grass Country or that it's landholding extend to Sheepridge and according to the route map of the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway provided in my paperback of** ** _Raising Steam_** **, Sheepridge is outside of the Chalk, but presumably close enough for Magrat Garlick to have made it by broomstick to the market there to buy a tortoise, as she claims to have done in** ** _Wyrd Sisters_** **.**

 **You might be surprised, but I didn't make up the shell peanuts things out of the blue. My family Christmas tree for 2017 (Time of writing is mid May 2018) was full of shell peanuts and we don't know why.**

 **The knotted threads bit was inspired by a small bit in writer Sweet Inu Girl's massive work** ** _The Accession_** **. (If you are a fan of** ** _Inuyasha_** **, I highly recommend her works.)**

 **The comment of Billy Samsonite is a reference to William "Compo" Simmonite from the long running BBC sitcom** ** _Last of the Summer Wine_** **. It's character interaction is a lot like in the** ** _Discworld_** **books.**

 **Lettie's pet mouse named Sooty and the bag of marbles, first I wanted to develop Lettie a little further, given how she acts in the book I thought a mild tomboy would make sense for her. And as for the name of her mouse, there's a rather cute moment in the** ** _Sooty & Co_** **episode** ** _Sooty's Magic Solutions_** **where briefly the titular magical teddy bear as a white mouse on his head.**

 **I changed the name of the Count of Catterack in the book, to the Earl of Cataract as an attempt at Pratchett play on word humour. Although I fear it might be a bit childish.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Most of this is lifted from the book with elements of the film, and obviously elements from the** ** _Tiffany Aching_** **books added in. Next chapter will pick up where the film begins.**

 **See you next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

The day started off just like any other. Sophie got up and unlocked all the doors. Waited for Bessie and the staff to arrive. Including some new girls Fanny hired to help with demands, Sophie didn't feel comfortable around them. So, like always she found herself sitting at her work desk. Listening to the bells running the changes to announce the middle of Springtime. Fanny went out early, but Sophie needed to finish a couple of hats first.

A train passed as she sowed wax cherries and fake wheat heads to the burgundy ribbon of a red hat. The Eleven Twenty-Five to Sheepridge and onto Pseudopolis. She didn't know much about the railway, other than being around for about ten years. She of course knew about the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway which started it all, the Engineer Sir Dick Simnel originally came from Sheepridge. And see remember her late father discussing with Fanny about exporting hats when the railway came to Market Chipping. Although he back down later.

From what she remembered and later learned, the railway going through Octarine Grass Country started out as a rival to the Hygienic Railway, called the Great Turnwise Railway, and became an operating mess. It went bankrupt soon after and got bought out by the Hygienic Railway.

A knock came at the open door and Bessie called in, "Sophie?", she looked up as the shop assistant explained, "We just closed the shop, you've done enough work, why don't you come out with us this time?"

Sophie smiled kindly and lifted her hat in mind stitch, "No, I'd better finish this. You go and have fun."

Bessie gave a nodded, Sophie could see the disappointment, but understanding in her expression. "All right, suit yourself." She turned back to the room. "Let's go girls."

A few of them started to follow when one called out. "Look! It's Howl's Castle!", suddenly they, barring Bessie rushed to the nearest window and started gossiping about if he could see them. Sophie herself glanced out hers. Through the glass, over the rooftops and up the moors into the clouded crests of the foothills she saw and speck trudge across the heather before disappearing as a clutter of planes buzzed past.

Sophie watched annoyed, all this fuss over such an insignificant glimpse. Obviously if the castle looked like a speck from where she sat, then the swooning girls would be practically invisible if Howl even did look at the town from his castle turrets. Returning to her hat in progress she turned it over and took her scissors.

One of the girls mentioned about some girl from Southaven named Martha, making Sophie briefly wonder how Martha currently faired under Mistress Aching. As for Martha of Southaven, apparently Howl tore the girl's heart out, this of course came from the famous and anonymous They, a phrase she remembered overhearing at the opening ceremony for the railway station came from a female report for the _Ankh-Morpork Times_. A lie can run around the world before the Truth has got her boots on. Sophie would not believe it until she saw it, part of her doubted if the Wizard Howl existed.

Meanwhile one girl became too scared to go out, to which another said, "Don't worry, he only preys on pretty girls." The rest laughed as the scared one scurried out clutching her hat down as if to hide her face.

Sophie sighed, right there, one reason she didn't want to spend time socialising with these girls, not only could they be too silly for her tastes, they could also be quite spiteful and think it funny, she dare not think what they thought about her. As they left Sophie tested some other decorations. Deciding not on a purple flower she took out one which fit the arrangement and pinned it to the bunch. When the door to the cloakroom shut she started talking to the hat again, "You are very proper, the height of good manners and example to everyone on good behaviour," she said it less as something to fit the hat, and more out of annoyance at the girls for their rudeness.

Another train passed. And though the light change, her focus on the stitching remained sharp. Ten minutes ticked away since the last one. She cut the threads and slid the hat on the model head. "There now. Be kind to the others."

Force of habit made her turn to the pile of waiting moulded felt. Lifting two from the closet stack to her and moved them aside. The two under them came first, since they sat on the desk waiting all morning. She took the small red one and examined it. Then she got second thoughts, she made a promise to herself. She would see Lettie, no excuses. The seat of her chair swivelled, so not to make the awful groan of wooden legs rubbing on wooden floor boards. She climbed off the chair landing on her boots. Dusted her apron off, untied it and placed it on the side dresser next to the straw hat she used for herself, which she picked up.

A flight of planes went overhead as she exited the work space and went into the shop itself. Putting the hat on to try and muffle and drown of the engines. How they worked she didn't have a clue, and quite frankly if they acted as dangerously as they sounded she did not want to go near one even if her life depended on it.

In the quiet of the shop she tested the hat to see if it improved her appearance. Unfortunately, it did less to improve and more to compliment, it looked like something an old woman would wear, the same goes with her dress. And the shape made her think of a bowler hat, a girl wearing one of those just looked silly, and as such, she saw her father looking back at her, not anyone special.

With a dejected huff she pulled the hat down low, almost covering her eyes and went to the door. Outside she locked it. Having to shield herself in her own thoughts against the roar of the planes and the merriment of the town. As she went down the steps to the street she took glimpses about.

The flag of Ingary hung from every building. The four yellow and three pink stripes, no she corrected herself, her favourite teacher, Mrs Conran might very well have whipped her with the black side of her tongue for make such a common misconception. The three pink bars on a yellow, although constitutionally gold, and the Royal Coat of Arms over it. A common civil version removed the shield. The colours of Ingary seemed to be a point of national pride, no other nation on the Disc used pink as a national colour, which tells you something about Ingary.

She judged her speed and the chaos about her as people walked, rode bicycles, personal steam carriages and one farmer slowly moved his traction engine. A steam carriage almost ran over Sophie's foot. The top hat wearing drive made no look out as he sped past her. Sophie ignored this as she ran to the Market Square Tram.

The last couple of gentlemen clambered aboard the already packed double decker trolley, meaning Sophie only just managed to stand on the steps. Even then she needed to be quick, as no soon did she step onboard, the stoker pulled the bell and the driver opened the regulator. Sophie looked away from the sardine tin crowd and focused on the street, not for any entertainment value, just because.

Above in formation a squadron of planes towed a massive flag, followed by an escort. The Mayor really pulled out all the stops this year, and still Sophie felt herself as apart from the festivities, being only a nobody girl visiting her sister.

The tram crossed the bridge over the mainline and she spotted a train pulling Land Ships, special armoured vehicles. It amazed Sophie at how quick the nations of the Ramtops industrialised with iron and steam. Miss Tick mentioned Mistress Aching, with the backing of Nanny Ogg and Queen Magrat of Lancre, advised this as a precaution against Elves. Fanny asked Miss Tick why so, and the witch-finder explained.

Elves in the Discworld are unfair-folk. They live in a parasite dimension, which is a world not complete by itself and rides along on a better world, Discworld being a prime example. Elves are superior and consider themselves so glamourous, human cannot hold a candle to them, indeed, the candle would be about fifty feet below an Elf. As such the Elves consider human as no more than animals and amusements. They tried attacking Lancre and the Chalk a few times, the only thing to drive fear into them being iron, its magnetism interfered with their sixth sense, like blinding light in one's eyes or a loud and annoying noise. The introduction of the railways caused quite the stir for them. No Elf has attacked for about ten years, but Mistress Aching took no chances.

Sophie wondered, if she ever came across an elf, herself so plain and interesting, how would her reaction to an Elf glamour be?

The tram stopped at the depo before the Main Square, where a large military procession happened. Regiments marched past a cheering crowd as a storm of confetti fell.

Instead of getting caught up in the crowd and risk injury and distain as she would elbow and worm her way through, Sophie decided to go down the side streets. She passed under an arch into a back courtyard. Then she spotted a solider on guard by equipment packs. Gasping she rushed off so he wouldn't notice her. Even if she doubts a few things about the Wizard Howl, she knew a wizard could be tricky, he could be anything.

Down some steps she checked her bearings. The parade to her left. She pulled out a paper map she drew up, look about for a moment and continued forward. She walked slowly as to familiarise herself with the narrow backstreet, she rounded a bend before returning to the piece of paper, she would need to turn at a junction at some point. She looked to her right, not here. Back to the front she stopped. A uniform torso blocked her path. Following it up she found a solider leaning on the corner of a building examining her. She took a step back.

"Hey," the solider said in a hush, supposed to be alluring voice. "Looks like a little mouse lost it way."

Sophie took a step back and shook her head flustered at nearly running into him. "Oh no, I'm not lost.", she started to walk aside the towering figure, but the solider continued, "This little mouse looks thirst. We should take her for a cup of tea.", a second solider, with a thick brown handlebar moustache, walked out beside his colleague and blocked her way. She backed away again. "No thanks," she said hiding herself under the brim of her hat. "my sister's expecting me."

The face of the second solider peered under the brim. "She's pretty cute for a mouse."

If not scared of being taken advantage of by these two she would have laughed. Cute indeed, as if anyone could think someone like her cute. The first solider leaned in, violating her personal space, which admittedly since starting at the hat shop it became larger, still intruding and making her feel uncomfortable, and not taking any notice the first solider asked, "How old are you anyway? You live around here?"

The beginnings of a blush started to spark on the upper half of Sophie's cheeks. She took another step back, and mustering up a little courage she ordered them, "Leave me alone."

Trouble is, being a young girl, solider don't take orders from civilians unless ordered to. The first solider glanced at his friend with a chuckle, "You see? Your moustache scares all the girls.", his friend replied, "So? I think she's even cuter when she's scared."

Toying with her, what cheek! What she wouldn't do to them if she could.

"There you are sweetheart." A new voice smoothed from behind her. The soldiers looked up as a hand took hold of her right shoulder and her left touch thin cloth. "Sorry I'm late." The voice continued. Sophie turned more nervous and flinched.

"I was looking everywhere for you." He must have mistaken her from someone else.

The solider stood straight to address this stranger, no matter what the newcomer claimed. The first one said, "Hey, hey, we're busy here."

"Are you really?" the stranger questioned. "It looked to me that the two of you were just leaving." He raised a finger of his right hand, being propped up on Sophie's shoulder. The solider tensed up and stood to attention. Another wave of the finger. They did a right turn. The stranger then spread his fingers, took his arm off her shoulder and waved it aside. The soldiers proceeded to march, much to their own and Sophie's surprise and against their posting voices, their legs hurried them down the alleyway.

"Don't hold it against them." The stranger said, taking Sophie's attention and looking to his face. "Their actually not all that bad."

Sophie's thoughts now worked on many levels. Her first thoughts, how handsome the man looked. Shoulder-length straight light blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a pale complexion over a long angular face, his voice as smooth as butter and it made her heart flutter, she felt herself soften towards him. Second thoughts, Not all that bad? Could have fooled me. Third, he must be a wizard, she hoped to whatever gods listened she did not stand in the presence and grip of the Wizard Howl.

"Where to? I'll be your escort this evening."

"Oh," Sophie held her blush in place. "I, um, just going to the bakery, Cesari's on Market Square."

He nodded and leaned into whisper, "Don't be alarmed, but I'm being followed." He took his arm from her shoulder and offered it. "Act normal." Against her third thoughts judgement she followed as he started walking, his hand gently took hers to guide it to his arm and soon they calmly walked.

As for Sophie's other thoughts. First, she thought how kind and charming he seemed, although it could merely be pity. Her second thoughts continued its sarcasm. Oh yes, I can act normal in the presence of a stranger who may or may not be the infamous Wizard Howl, who called me sweetheart and is apparently being followed.

A slurping came from behind them, she tried to glance back, and the wizard whispered, "Sorry, it looks like your involved."

Sophie gasped. In front of them, spilling out of the walls, came a small army of inky blob men, wearing straw boater hats for whatever reason.

"This way." The wizard said and turned to the right pulling her into another alleyway and picking up the pace slightly, and slowly increasing. At the end of the alley they would join the crowd watching the parade. Sophie now wished she did elbow her way through instead of getting harassed by a pair of misogynistic soldiers, fearing for her life in the arms of a wizard and being attacked by walking mud.

Now at a full spirit the wizard's arm took hold of her waist and told her to, "Hold on." He jumped. They went high into the air. She looked down. The blobs crashed and spilled all over each other. Then the height took her concern, on a broomstick she would have felt a little safe, but with nothing but air between her and the rapidly shrinking ground?

"Now," the wizard advised, taking hold of both her hand and keeping her steady, "straighten your legs, and start walking," still stuck on the how they managed to stay up conundrum she took a few moments to comply. Gingerly she matched her escort's steps. Together they skipped over one street, something like fifty feet in the air.

"See, not so hard is it?" amazing herself, Sophie quite forget to be scared, indeed she found it becoming enjoyable. Romantic even her second and third thoughts agreed. Although her first remained fixed on the awe of the spectacle. They crested a roof and Market Square came into view. Cesari's sat straight ahead and the nearest balcony of the bakery stood about ten feet below them. So, they started to descend slowly.

The wizard chuckled and smiled at her. "You are a natural."

At this, her first thoughts switched to agree with her others and smiled returned the smile. She didn't feel so happy for months. Their feet touched the top of a building's ornamental turret. Thank goodness, Sophie thought, no one looked up.

Reaching the balcony, the wizard slowed them down. He landed on the wooden rail and lowered her gently to the floor. She still held one hand as she turned back to him as he spoke "I'll make sure to draw them off. But wait a bit before you head back outside." She smiled and said okay as his hand slowly left hers, she still reached for him. He stood straight. "That's my girl." And he leapt back and down.

Gasping she ran to the edge and looked down. She couldn't see him. Then her third thoughts bounced back, he's a wizard.

* * *

Said wizard looked up at her for a moment and his smile widened, a nice girl, but not quite all there yet. He came across her so suddenly and did his best, part of him wondered why he said what he did when he became her knight in shining armour. But he felt in his heart, he winced a little, it felt right anyhow. He still burned with fury at the two soldiers, true he probably would have called the girl a little grey mouse as well.

But the fact she made it clear she did not wish to get involved in any merrymaking, simply wishing to visit her sister, and how the two kept on ignoring her wishes, acting as if they knew better. True as his friend Wilbert joked he must have courted as many girls as Giamo Casanunda, with half the effort, what with Casanunda being a dwarf, three feet nine inches in his high-heeled boots. But at least he considered the girls feelings, then he sighed, up until the point he realised they were not the girl he looked for. This girl, however, she felt, different, more different than any before.

Hopefully he didn't miscalculate. After all, the Witch of the Waste focused on him. Never on any of his, he sighed, fancies. His eyes looked to a girl running up to her. Her sister? It looked like it, but his instincts told him the best things came in threes. He focused. Yes, he could do it. He needed to know before he could act, he needed to be sure. He'd been close before and found he miscalculated.

Again, he hoped he didn't miscalculate on the Witch of the Waste. His instincts told him he and his associates would be in for, interesting times.

He turned and focused his mind's eye on the Witch's minions. Already they sulked away, presumably back to their mistress. He felt unsure. He didn't like being unsure. As a wizard, he needed the upmost certainty. If you were uncertain you must be wrong, anything uncertain could kill you. A few attempts to solve his own problems did almost kill him.

He did feel exposed though. He focused on his home and disappeared.

* * *

Inside the bakery the most well to do of the May Day revellers and many dashing young army officers sat at tables discussing a myriad of different subjects.

Lettie couldn't listen to much as man after man crowded around the counter, some of them the posh son of the local gentlemen farmers, others local entrepreneurs here looking for new business contacts. Lettie put cakes and biscuits into bags as fast as she could go, giving each bag a deft little twist and back under her own elbow with a smile and an answer for each bag she twisted.

One of the assistants ran up and whispered something, she flinched and looked to her asking "She what?" she rushed to the end. Smiled at the boy who flipped the counter flap, as the customers called for her attention. She ignored them and rushed up the steps she couldn't believe what she heard. Almost stumbling she turned a corner of the stairway and there Sophie stood on the top floor balcony. She called over and took her sisters hand.

Sophie looked distant and not all there. She examined her sister, Lettie, prettier than ever and perhaps a little thinner asked her, "What's going on? Someone just told me you floated into the balcony?"

Sophie lowered slightly. "So that did happen, it wasn't a dream."

Mr Cesari walked out of his office and inquired, "Lettie? Would you like to use my office?"

"I should really get back to work," but she gave a friendly wave. "Thank you though."

Instead Lettie dragged Sophie into the back of the shop, to a room surrounded by rack upon wooden rack, each on filled with rows of cakes. Lettie pulled forward two stools. "Sit down," she said. She looked in the nearest rack, in an absent-minded way, and handed Sophie a cream cake out of it. "You may need this," she said.

Sophie sank onto the stool breathing in the rich smell of cake and feeling a little tearful, "Oh, Lettie!" she said, "I am so glad to see you!"

"Yes, and I'm glad you're sitting down," said Lettie, she glanced to the kitchen and then leaned in closer to whisper, "You see, I'm not Lettie. I'm Martha."

Sophie contained her surprise and quietly exclaimed, "What?", she stared at the girl on the stool opposite her. She looked just like Lettie.

"I'm Martha," said her sister. "Who did you catch cutting Lettie's silk drawers? I never told Lettie that. Did you?"

Still stunned Sophie shook her head. "No," with this revelation she looked at the girl differently, and indeed she saw Martha. Her head tilted the Martha would, and her hands clasped around her knees with her thumbs twiddling. "Why?"

"I've been dreading you coming to see me," Martha said, "because I knew I'd have to tell you. It's a relief now I have. Promise you won't tell anyone? I know you won't tell if you promise. You're so honourable."

"I promise. But why? How?"

"Lettie and I arranged it," Martha said twiddling her thumbs, "because Lettie wanted to learn witchcraft and I didn't. Lettie's got the brains, getting Sooty for her shamble proved that, and she wants a future where she can use them, only try telling that to Mother! Mother's too jealous of Lettie even to admit she has brains!"

Sophie could not believe Fanny could be like that, but she let it pass. "But what about you?"

"Eat your cake," said Martha. "It's good. Oh, yes, I can be clever too. After about a week at Mistress Aching's steading, helping her with the sheep, doing odd jobs around the Chalk and advising the Baron. I told her I didn't want to be a witch." She blushed and rocked on the stool, twirling her thumbs in a happy pink whirl. "I want to get married and have ten children."

Sophie blushed herself then said, "You're not old enough!"

"Not quite," Martha agreed. "But you see I've got to start soon to fit ten children in. And this way gives me time to wait and see if the person I want likes me for being me. Mistress Aching gave me a spell, it messes with the Headology of people, it'll wear off gradually, and I shall get more and more like myself, you see."

Sophie so astonished she finished her cake without noticing what kind she just ate. "Why ten children?"

"Because that's how many I want." Martha replied.

"I never knew!"

"Well, it wasn't much good going on about it when you were busy backing Mother up about me making my fortune," Martha said, turning slightly stern. "You thought Mother meant it. I did too, until Father died, and I saw she tried to get rid of us! Putting Lettie where she was bound to meet a lot of men and get married off and sending me as far as she could! I was so angry I thought, Why not? And I spoke with Mistress Aching, Miss Tick and Lettie and she was just as angry, and we fixed it up. We're fine now." She sighed and took a breath to calm herself. "Anyway what happened to you?"

Sophie blinked out of her thought, then she relayed the events of the afternoon to her.

"Wow! He must have been a wizard then."

Sophie turned away. "But he was so kind to me, he rescued my Martha."

"Of course, he did, he was trying to steal your heart. You were so lucky Sophie. If that wizard were Howl, he would have eaten it."

"No, he wouldn't." Sophie sighed and looked down. "Howl only does that to beautiful girls."

Martha tilted her head. "What do you mean Sophie? Everybody thinks the three of us are pretty. You need to be more careful, it dangerous out there, need I remind you the Witch of the Waste is still out there somewhere." She looked to her seemingly oblivious sister. "Are you listening?" Sophie turned back to her and went, "Huh?"

Martha groaned.

Next to them an empty cake rack got pulled out and an apprentice stuck his head through from the kitchen. "Lettie? The chocolate eclairs are done."

Martha turned back and smiled. "Okay, I'll be right there."

Sophie thought he looked a nice lad. She longed to ask Martha if he happened to be the one she liked, but she decided to pry into her sister's personal life. She stood up. "All right, I'd better got going. I only wanted to make sure you were doing all right." As she walked out Martha came out with her. A man carrying a sack of flour greeted Martha as Lettie and went into the stores.

Martha took Sophie's hands. "Now Sophie, both me and Lettie are worried about you. You're far too clever and nice to be stuck in that shop for the rest of your life, slaving away while Mother goes off gadding…"

"She's doing the buying." Sophie said.

"Buying!" Martha cried. Her thumbs whirled. "That only takes her half a morning. I've seen her Sophie and heard the talk. She's off in a hired steam carriage and new clothes, the hat shop is making a mint these days and all because of you! You made that green hat that makes the Mayor's wife look like a stunning schoolgirl, didn't you?"

"Caterpillar green. I trimmed it."

"And the bonnet Jane Farrier was wearing when she met that nobleman," Martha swept on, "You're a genius with hats and clothes, and Mother knows it! You sealed your fate when you made Lettie that outfit last May Day. And they say Mother's going to buy a place in Vale End and set up in style, on your earnings. And, where are you?"

"Well, Fanny's entitled to some pleasure after all her hard work bringing us up," Sophie said, her second thoughts contradicted herself, Fanny spent most of her time selling hats in the shop, Sophie did most of the work bringing Lettie and Martha up. Her first thought took control and she reasoned, "The shop was just so important to Father." She put on a brave face. "And I'm the eldest, I don't mind."

Martha shook her head. "I'm not asking what Father would've wanted, I want to know what you want."

"Well,"

Just then the man from before walked back out and said goodbye to Martha. Sophie thought I best to leave, even she felt unsure what wanted. "I'd better be going." And she walked off, just catching Martha's reply, "It's your life Sophie, do something for yourself for once, will you?"

As she walked away and over the bridge of the sewer system, Sophie felt a little chill. Not breeze, no stranger looking at her funny. Maybe just an inexplicable bit of stray magic from the Ramtops.

On the tram back to her side of town Sophie considered Martha's words. Bessie would be leaving to get married, meaning she would be even more alone at the shop. If so, she felt she did at least want some benefit. When she next saw Fanny, she would ask about wages.

The sun started to set under the Disc by the time Sophie reached the shop. She entered and locked the door from the inside. As she walked to the counter she looked to the hats on display. She lit the lamp on the counter. Tomorrow it would be back to the dull life. "What good are you all?" she asked them. "You certainly aren't doing me a scrap of good."

Within an ace of leaving the house and setting out to seek fortune, she then remembered about being the eldest, so no point to it. She looked up at the hats and sighed again. As she walked around the counter, the shop bell rang.

As the door shut, before it stood a large, bulbous woman dressed in black with furs and a wide brimmed floppy hat.

Sophie frowned. "I'm sorry but the shop is closed now ma'am," and under her voice she muttered, "I could have sworn I looked that door, must have forgotten."

The women approached. "Miss Hatter?" she asked in a musical but commanding voice. "I hear you sell the most heavenly hats. Show me."

Somehow compelled Sophie went and got out hats. None of them in this lady's class. The sooner the lady discovered the hat did not suit her, the sooner she could leave. Sophie followed Fanny's advice and got out the most unsuitable first.

It started to work as the lady rejected hats instantly. "Dimples," she said to the pink bonnet, and "Youth," to the caterpillar green one. To the one of twinkles and veils she said, "Mysterious allure. How obvious. What else have you?"

Sophie got out the modish black and white, the only hat remotely likely to interest this lady.

Said lady looked at it with contempt. "This one doesn't do anything for anybody. What a tacky shop, I've never seen such tacky little hats," she returned to Sophie. "Yet you're by far the tackiest thing here."

Getting annoyed Sophie explained, "This is only a small shop in a small town, Madam. And I'm afraid you will have to leave now." She trudged over to the door and pulled it open. "The door is over here ma'am. We're closed."

The lady slowly turned, like a planetary spin and smiled smugly. "Standing up to the Witch of the Waste?" she cackled. "That's plucky."

Sophie flinched. "The Witch of the Waste?", an eldritch sloshing and watery growling came from the door. Sophie turned as two of the blob-men from before. Lankier, overly tall, dressed in exaggerated servants dress, with stovepipe hats adding to their height and masks for seemingly no reason why, since it did nothing to hide their black, featureless faces from Sophie. But what did reason mean to a mad witch?

She turned back to the Witch of the Waste. The Witch raised her arms and leaned forward, resembling an overweight bird of prey. Her form turned translucent and approaching. Sophie shielded herself. Flesh and furs touch her, indeed went through her. Pain and weakness burned through her.

From behind she made out the Witch say, "The best part of that spell is, that you can't tell anyone about it. My regards to Howl." The shop door tolled like a funeral bell as she left.

A spell? Sophie thought. She retracted from her shielding, her body seemed to respond slower. She looked about. Did the room look a bit taller? Still, no henchmen about, the hats looked okay. She reached down for her own then stopped half way back up. Her hands were wrinkled, with large veins on the backs and her knuckles resembled knobs. She felt her face, loose folded, fleshy. Looking to the mirror, she needed confirmation. Hobbled over and liked into the silvery glass. The face looking back made her jump. Gaunt, withered and brownish, surround by wispy white hair. Her eyes, yellowing and watery.

"That's really me isn't it!" she croaked and looked about. "I've got to stay calm!", trying to run, she once again only managed to hobble, her knees felt knobbly too. She often found walking away from a little bit helped to calm herself. Returning to the mirror she peered from the side. Still the old woman looked back, and like herself flinched with a small wail.

She rushed, or did her best to, out of the shop and into the courtyard. "Now there's no use panicking Sophie," she stumbled in the small gutter channel. "It's a bad dream that's all," she turned back to the shop, "just go inside and go to bed," still to shocked to go the sleep effectively she came back out to continue calming herself, "Everything will be calm Sophie, you going to be fine. I've got to stay calm." She clambered, with the effort of a mountaineer, up the stairs. Went to bed, forgetting her nightclothes. Later she reflected they probably wouldn't have fit.

* * *

 **I should start with the ten years in the future part. I decided to distance myself from the end of** ** _The Shepherd's Crown_** **and explore a possible outcome of that book and** ** _Raising Steam_** **. As for the years, wikiDOTlspaceDOTorg has a reasonably thorough timeline of University Calendar years and which books (well, most of them) correspond to which year. wikiDOTlspaceDOTorg /mediawiki/Discworld_Timeline**

 **Based on this I feel** ** _Raising Steam_** **takes place mainly from the latter half of 1996 UC almost directly following on from** ** _Snuff_** **and goes on into 1997 UC, as near the end of book the (then) Low King says its been eight years since** ** _The Fifth Elephant_** **and thus I think, given the build speeds increased with the presence of trolls, dwarfs, golems and goblins, the railways stretch to Genua by the end of 1997 when I think** ** _The Shepherd's Crown_** **takes place. So, I decided to set my story ten years after the last** ** _Discworld_** **book.**

 **I've got plans to elaborate on the Great Turnwise Railway in another story. But I based its trouble off the early days of the Stockton and Darlington Railway and malpractice of George Hudson the "Railway King".**

 **The Truth has got** ** _her_** **boots on. If you've read** ** _Unseen Academicals_** **then you may remember that bit of prose.**

 **The flags seen in the film have always interested me. Vexillology is small passion of mine. The 'constitutionally gold' part refers to the flag of German.**

 **Land ships were a proposal by the British Army in the First World War to make 1000 plus ton tanks. In fact, the term Tank was only adopted as a codeword and it stuck.**

 **As one of the things I wanted to do with this is explore the unforeseen consequences of the industrialisation of the Discworld. We'll be delving further into that as we go along.**

 **Until then, farewell dear reader.**


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came to Market Chipping; the slow light of the Discworld sun woke the town.

A steam carriage with the number 667 parked outside the shop.

Fanny opened the workshop door carrying a hatbox and dressed in fine yellow with puffed shoulders and an ostentatiously decorated hat. "Look who here!" she announced.

The shop girls turned or looked up and became stunned into flattery. Fanny smiled smugly and flaunted her attire with a spin. "So, what do you think?" she asked. "It's all the rage in Kingsbury!" as Bessie put another box on the table Fanny gave hers to one of the girls, who complimented, "It's gorgeous!"

"I know, our customers will love it!" she looked to the room off the side. "Sophie?" To her surprise, apart from a selection of hats, the room lay vacant. Fanny frowned. "Sophie?"

One of the girls answered, "I'm afraid your daughter hasn't come downstairs yet today ma'am."

"That's strange," Fanny mused. "I wonder what's going on?" she went into the house and up the stairs to Sophie's room, calling her daughter's name.

In the room Sophie sat lamenting, she awoke hours ago and found the spell to be true. Then she heard Fanny, followed by a knock on the door. "Sophie?"

"Don't come in here!" she called back, her voice croaking without any need to fake it. "I've got a bad cold. I don't want you to catch it."

Fanny backed from the door slightly. "You sound ghastly! Like some ninety-year-old woman."

Sophie would have laughed if not for the truth of the matter. "I'll just stay in bed all day, so you go on."

"Well," Fanny said, with an unsure stress in her tone. "If you insist."

Sophie waited until the footsteps disappeared before pulling herself from the bed. She took her movement slowly still trying to get used to the new facts of her life. This time when she went to the mirror the face looked calm, because she expected to see it. Now she could smile at the wrinkled face of senility. "This isn't so bad now it is?" she restudied her complexion properly, becoming assumed at the tiny tail of silvery hair and the little pink bow at the end. "You're still in pretty good shape, and your clothes finally suit you. Besides, this is much more like you really are."

She thought about her situation, quite calmly. Everything seemed to have gone calm and remote. She didn't even feel particularly angry at the Witch of the Waste.

Presently she heard the shop girls talking downstairs and now she frowned. "But, you can't stay here like this for long." She turned back to her reflection. "Let's see. This grey dress is quite suitable, but I shall need my shawl and some food."

Her joints creaked as she moved. "Being old is worse than I thought." She needed to walk bowed and slow. But she felt relieved to discover herself to be quite a hale old woman. She did not feel weak or ill, just stiff. She hobbled to collect her shawl and wrapped it over her head and shoulders, as she saw all old women do. Then she shuffled through the house, where she collected her purse with a few coins in it and a parcel of bread and cheese. She let herself out through one of the back doors, carefully hiding the key in the usual place.

She overheard a group of men at the end of the alley discussing things while consulting a newspaper. "…Strangia, they say their Prince Stephen is missing."

"And their blaming us."

"Unbelievable!"

"Yeah, it sounds like they're going to start a war over it, that's what I heard."

"That's terrible, and with Prince Justin missing, he's one the King's best generals."

"And the Wizard Suliman, with Madame Suliman's health as it is, Sir Benjamin is our main magical defence."

"Let's hope the Prince turns up soon."

"Which one?"

"Either."

Sophie grumbled internally. The things people argue about. She wondered if she should say goodbye to Martha. But she did not like the idea of Martha not knowing her. She thought it best just to go. Sophie decided she would write to both her sisters when she got wherever she ended up. She shuffled onto the footbridge over the railway cutting. She heard a train coming as a young man ran past her. Black smoke covered her. Coughing as she emerged another man, virtually a boy in his mid-twenties asked, "Excuse me? Could you use some help?"

"I'll be fine," Sophie said, negotiating the steps one by one, she added, "Thanks for offering, that was really kind."

By mid-morning she stumbled to the edge of the town before the bridge over the river and thankfully a farm wagon looked ready to move. She asked for a lift, the driver, no doubt taking pity on a poor old woman agreed, "Sure, there's room on the back if you like, but where are you head?"

Sophie not really knowing gave the best answer she could, "Just a little way farther than where you're going." She found only just enough room on the back to sit. The cart rocked on the bumpy country lanes.

The cart quite coincidently stopped at the last farmstead before the foothills turned into the Ramtops themselves. The farmer called back as she walked beyond, "You're crazy if you do this grandma. There's nothing but witches and wizards out there."

And everyone knew which witches and wizards. But really, what else could Sophie do? Indeed, finding a good witch or wizard who could break this curse might be her best course of action, she did know the vague direction to either the Chalk or to Lancre, she heard good witches lived there. Maybe a few witches set up their steadings, or Unseen University student, or lecturer, doing research, out between here and the countries on widdershins boarders of Octarine Grass Country.

Still, she assumed no bad witch or wizard would ever bother with an old woman. So, she replied to the farmer, "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

Then the farmer's wife asked from far behind Sophie. "She's going to the Waste by herself?"

"Says she's looking for her younger sister."

Well, Sophie thought, if I do make it to the Chalk I can see Mistress Aching, and presumably Lettie as well, by the time I do make it to the Chalk, Lettie would probably be a powerful enough witch to break the spell. She also wondered, as she shambled up a step path, if she ran into Miss Tick, whether she would be willing to give her a lift in her caravan.

Thanks to the warmth of the spring day Sophie discovered being a crone did not stop her enjoying the sight and smell of May in the hedgerows, though the sights did blur. Her back began to ache. She hobbled sturdily enough, but she needed a stick.

By the middle of the day Sophie sat down to have her first of many meals of bread and cheese. She sat down on a rock and gazed at the view of the valley. Market Chipping still dominated the panorama, but she could see Upper Folding which settled roughly twelve miles, or four, or was it three, and a half leagues from Market Chipping.

After swallowing she sighed in reflection of her lack of progress, "I'll never get there with these legs," while she didn't know where there would eventually be, she knew she would not find out at her current rate. To take her mind off it she took another bite. "Well, at least my teeth haven't fallen out yet."

Glancing away from the town she saw something in her blurred eyesight. A stick poking out of a bush. "That would make a nice cane," she put her parcel down and pushed onto her knees. Her joints creaked but she spoke encouragement into them. "Up we go." After a few trudging steps she reached the bush and grabbed hold of the stick.

Evidently her eyes didn't work as good as they used to as she misjudged the distance and the size of the stick. "Might be too big," she grappled it, but it looked stuck fast to the branches of the bush. Sophie gave a harder tug. Then she pushed down on it like a lever. Her back cricked and she paused for a moment. "This is one stubborn branch," she looked to it and told it straight, "You not getting the best of this old lady!" Sophie heaved, and the bush gave way.

A black figure suddenly loomed over her. She backed up. But her vision focused, and she saw the thing for real. "Just a scarecrow!" she felt a little silly. "I was afraid you were one of those blob men." Then a question came to her as she studied the pole, "But how are you standing on your own like that?"

The scarecrow, of course, didn't supply her with an answer. It looked a patchwork of about four different suits, with slight differences in style, stitched together haphazardly. One part of it took her attention. "You're head's a turnip. I've always hated turnips, ever since I was little.", she turned away from it. "At least you're not upside down now. So, long." She picked up her parcel and went on climbing the hill.

A thought struck her, and she turned back. "Now if I wasn't doomed to failure because of my position in the family," she told the scarecrow, "you could come to life and offer me help in making my fortune. But I wish you luck anyway."

She laughed as she walked on. Perhaps she became a little mad, but then old women often were.

An hour or so later she heard noises in a hedge beside the pathway. Little strangled squeaking followed by heaving which shook petals off the hedge. Sophie crawled on her bony knees to peer past the leaves and flowers and thorns into the inside of hedge and discovered a thin dog in there. Hopelessly trapped by a stout stick somehow twisted with a rope tied around the dog's neck. The stick wedged itself between two branches of the hedge, so the dog could barely more. It rolled its eyes wildly at Sophie's peering face.

As a girl, Sophie feared dogs. Even as an old woman she felt alarmed by the two rows of white fangs in the creature's open jaws. But she said to herself, "The way I am now, it's scarcely worth worrying about,", and felt in her sewing pocket for her scissors. She reached into the hedge with the scissors and sawed away the rope around the dog's neck.

The dog turned wild. It flinched away from her and growled. But Sophie sawed bravely on. "You'll starve or be throttle to death, my friend," she told the dog in her cracked old voice, "unless you let me cut you free. In fact, I think someone has tried to throttle you already. Maybe that accounts for your wildness." The rope got tied quite tightly round the dog's neck and the stick looked to have been twisted viciously into it. It took a lot of sawing before the rope parted and dog dragged itself out from under the stick.

"Would you like some bread and cheese?" Sophie asked it. But the dog just growled at her, forced its way out through the opposite side of the hedge, and slunk away. "There's gratitude for you!" Sophie said, rubbing her prickled arms as she continued up the evermore difficult path. She started to scramble over large rocks littering the route. The wind from the mountains made their presence known. "It's too cold," Sophie grumbled as she looked back. "And I can still see the town, I've barely moved."

A tapping caught her ears and she looked further back down the way she came. She blinked. A tall figure hopped over a hillcrest in the path. The scarecrow.

Sophie frantically waved her hand at it. "Go away! Quit following me! There's no need to thank me, you don't owe me a thing!"

It stopped bouncing towards her.

"I'm sure you have a spell on you and I've had more than enough of witches and spells. So, just go and find some field and stand in it!" she turned back to the road and trudged as fast as her stiff joints would allow her. Before long she needed to stop and catch her breath, placing her hand on a rock to keep herself up. The tapping got louder and to her disappointment the scarecrow bounded up alongside her. She looked at it as it stopped, and something dropped from it's out wide arm.

A walking stick planted itself into the ground by Sophie's foot. She looked at the carved and painted handle. I resembled a bird with a black head, white face and orange beak. It made her think of a children's book she read to Lettie and Martha. Written by the prolific, if scatological, author, Felicity Beedle, one of few in her fifty-seven works the late Mr Hatter deemed suitable for their family's up and coming status.

The story of a black bird with a large beak who didn't have a name. It lived in the jungles of Howondaland, were the other animals who did have names laughed at it. So, he left the jungles to seek his fortune in Ankh-Morpork, the biggest city on the Discworld and seemingly the metaphorical hub of activity on the Disc. Everyone worked in Ankh-Morpork, even the Beggar's Guild made a living, so the bird wanted to work too. His beak got in the way when he tried woodcutting. Felt silly wearing a bowler hat when he tried office work in the Guild of Lawyers. Carrying things proved the most enjoyable and proved a great currier for the Guild of Merchants and Traders. Most of the time, he carried cans and because of his beak he could carry two at once, and so people started calling him "The Two Can Bird" and due the almost encouraged lack of spelling in the Twin City, it went through a few different versions before settling on Toucan, happy to be called something unique he took it as his name.

One day he felt a little adventurous and decided to carry three cans. He tripped down a flight of steps and spilt paint everywhere, but mainly onto him. The red and yellow paint mixed into orange which splashed all over his beak and he got a large blob of white over his face. No matter how much scrubbing he couldn't get the paint off. Having messed up on a job he felt a failure and went home.

Back in the jungle, none of the animals recognised him in his new appearance. When they asked his name, he replied now out of force of habit, Toucan, then explained himself, how he used to be the all black bird who left, then about his adventures. When the animals heard all about it, they laughed, but this time Toucan laughed with them.

As an older girl Sophie viewed it as silly story. And she wondered why exactly the cane's head looked like a Toucan, or where the scarecrow found it. But, currently in need of some support she knew beggars could not be choosers, but then again, because of the guild, apparently choosers could be beggars.

She gripped the beak and smiled up at the scarecrow. "Thank you, this cane is prefect, it's just what I need. If you'd like to do me one more favour, you could run off and find me a place to stay."

The scarecrow swivelled a hundred and eighty degrees and leapt back down the hills. Sophie waved her cane at it to say goodbye before returning to the slog up the path. She chuckled. "I seemed to have become quite cunning in my old age."

She plugged on uphill, mumbling. The lane became steeper and steeper and she found the stick a great help. Also, something to talk to. Sophie thumped along with a will, chatting to her stick. After all, old people often talk to themselves.

Shortly, the last of the hedges gave way to bare banks and the land beyond became a heathery upland, with a lot of steepness beyond covered with yellow, rattling grass. Sophie kept grimly on. By now her knobbly old feet ached, and her back, and her knees as well. She became too tired to mumble and simply plugged on, panting, the sun fell quite low, or maybe just the think cloud cover.

Sophie knew she needed to get to shelter soon. Because soon the Folding Valley would turn into the Waste, gnarly ground. If you look at it one way, it's just a pathless stretch of heather and furze, though matted and thorny furze. Then look at it the other way, you see an endless desolate expanse. A pleasant little stream you could jump over, becomes an almost bottomless abyss with a killing torrent only just visible. A lot of magic existed in the Ramtops, and mountains are made when land presses against each other, the magic gets trapped and you end up with land where space is scrunched up, big if it could be, and a person's mod can give it its chance. It is all in the way you see it.

A buzzing came from overhead. Sophie looked up, catching a thin metal ship in the sky before low could covered it. "A battleship?" she asked. Did the war start while she made her way up here? The wind pounded her, and she returned to complaints, "Why do you get so cold when you're old? I'm fatter than ever, yet the wind blows right through me!"

She collapsed onto a stone by the wayside, wondering what she would do now. "The only fortune I can think of is a comfortable chair!" she gasped.

Breathing through her nose she smelt smoke, burning. She looked back up the path as she followed the smell. "Someone's got a fire going," she pulled herself up. "Maybe there's a cabin nearby, or a shepherd's hut."

As she reached the top of the hill something else crested it from the opposite side. Rumbling, followed by a jet of steam and a clacking jumble of stone, brick and metal, with a giant face appeared next, making it look like a beastly hermit creature found within the grottiest of bestiaries approached her. Sophie thought hermit creature as the thing bounding up before her reminded her of the Hermit Elephant. A native creature of Howondaland, the hermit elephant is a close relative of the more commonly known regular elephant. However, the hermit elephant has an uncommonly thin and vulnerable skin by comparison to its cousins. To protect itself, the hermit elephant will walk into a village, enter a house or hut and lift it upon its back, carrying it away. As it grows, the elephant will periodically shed its house in favour of a new, larger one, much like hermit crabs. Hermit elephants frequently travel in herds, and these can easily be mistaken for villages if found while the animals are resting.

The scarecrow bounced up with the castle, seemingly escorting it. Sophie shouted at it, "Turnip-head! That's Howl's Castle! That is not what I meant when I asked for a place to stay."

The Castle stopped over them. Steam and smoke ejected from places all over the rambling building. Like an animal it stretched and opened its mouth, stuck it's already held out tongue further and exhaled. This gave Sophie the opportunity to examine the Castle, having never seen it so close. "Look at that. They call this a castle?"

More like hodgepodge of houses, mechanics, and even cannon stations, forming a what appears to be a walking mechanical creature with chicken-like legs and a huge, frog-like face. The four towers seen from afar, turned out to be chimneys. She marvelled how it did not fall apart on the spot. Maybe it entered the concept of balance from the opposite direction. Or maybe just so broken gravity left it alone out of sympathy.

The Castle seemingly offended pulled itself together as best it could and started on its way again. Sophie and the scarecrow tensed and moved around and away from the sprawling limbs. Once the hindlegs passed, the scarecrow hopped to the tail of the monstrous arcology. A door sat in the tail, with a few stone making a front step with, a pair of handrails, and even a little lantern over the frame.

The scarecrow turned around to face Sophie and hopped backwards, seemingly excited, although with the permanent smile painted on the turnip you could never quite tell what it thought. Sophie though got what it wanted to say. "Is that the way in?" she hurriedly hobbled after them.

With the Castle going downhill, and back the way Sophie came, it helped her catch up. Still, as tripped she called to it, "Slow down! For heaven's sake!" she grabbed a railing, but she couldn't clamber onto the step as the movement of the Castle made the door ungulate. "Make up your mind!" she called as she let go of the ramp and held the step, "Are you going to let me in or not?" the Castle responded by suddenly scooping her up.

Something flew off and the tapping of the scarecrow faded. Sophie looked back. "Oh! My shawl!" she turned to the door. This might be her only chance to get into any shelter this evening, she plucked up some courage and opened the doors with push.

Inside she found a small flight of stairs, the rest of the tail she assumed, a beam ceiling room with space on either side of the stairs, a slow orange glow came from the right side, the fire she smelt only a few minutes ago no doubt.

The tapping came back, and Sophie looked outside as the scarecrow leapt up. She called back to it. "It's nice and warm in there, so I'm going in," she saw the scarecrow carried something. "Oh, my shawl, thank you!" she reached out and the scarecrow twisted so its arm came to her hand. She gripped it smiling. "I'm sure Howl won't eat the heart of a shrivelled old lady like me."

The scarecrow began to slow, or maybe the Castle got faster. Still, she smiled as the disappearing decoy. "It's been a pleasure meeting you. Even if you are my least favourite vegetable. Take care Turnip-Head." With her goodbyes said she turned to the door, pushing it further to let herself in full, and shutting it after.

Climbing the steps slowly she peaked her head over the top to look about at floor level.

Someone cleared their throat, softly too. Sophie looked to the table.

A girl sat there by a lamp. Her back turned away from the fire as best she could. Sophie couldn't see much of her face. Her ashen blonde hair covered it up, only her left eye showed, and bright green. Her baggy and concealing dress hide most of her body, and she carried something in her pocket. But looking at her hands, tightly held together around a notebook with a quill pen, and far from her, Sophie could tell from the smoothness of them, and by the diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, a girl sat there. "Uh?" the girl said meekly, "Good evening, madam?"

"Good evening Miss. Can I come in?"

"Well, uh," her eye darted to the fire and back. Her hands shivered briefly. "The, Castle, allowed you in, so, I think it should be, okay."

Poor girl, Sophie thought, she's even more timid than I used to be. One thing about being old she liked, being able to express herself properly and not fear offending, what else did she have to lose?

The girl gestured with her hand for Sophie to come up. As Sophie did, the young one, beginning with an uncomfortable hum, asked. "Please, what, do you, want?"

Sophie looked around. Many, probably wizardly, things hung from the beams, strings of onions, bunches of herbs, and on the table with similar wizardry items, an old, brown, grinning human skull. The girl followed Sophie's eyeline to it. Between the gap in her bang, Sophie saw her lips curl up when she saw the skull.

Turning away from her, Sophie saw a reasonably sized fireplace with a small fire burning in the grate. A much smaller fire than all the smoke and steam outside suggested, but obviously she only just entered a backroom in the Castle. Much more important to Sophie, this fire reached the glowing rosy stage, dancing on the logs, and place beside it in the warmest position, a low chair with a cushion on it.

Sophie dived for the chair. "Ah! My fortune!" she said, settling herself comfortably in it. Bliss. The fire warmed her aches and the chair supported her back. She knew if anyone wanted to turn her out now, they would have to use extreme and violent magic, and she could tell this girl would not turn away an old lady.

The girl stood up and approached her, shuffling and get slower the closer she approached. Sophie turned back and smiled. "You don't have to be afraid of little old me."

"Oh," she said stopping and leaning back "it's not you madam, it's the fire. I," she started shivering, "my family's tavern caught fire, I was seven at the time, I almost didn't make it out, a," she glanced back to the skull, her eyebrow frowned, but she returned to Sophie. "Some man named Bill Door saved me. But I was out for a few days."

"Ah," Sophie nodded, "Then you can just leave me be. Tell Wizard Howl, that this castle's is ready to come apart around his ears if it travels much further."

"The Castle is held together by a spell.", she turned to the doorway. "But, I'm afraid Howl's not here just now.", she gave a sigh. "Neither is Wilbert."

Wilbert? Sophie thought. Is there another wizard who lives here? She then looked down, catching the girl toying with her ring. Ah, Sophie realised, this might be a good thing, Howl not here, but a possibly kinder wizard. "When will either of them be back?"

"Well, Wilbert should be back in the morning, either during or after breakfast. Howl, I don't know, he comes and goes as he pleases. Uh, is there anything I can do?"

"I'm afraid only a wizard can possibly help me," Sophie said quickly and firmly. For all she knew, she could very well be right. "I'll wait, if you don't mind."

The green eye darted to the fire. She shivered again and backed up slightly. She nodded.

Sophie smiled. "Just tell the first one to arrive the name's Sophie," she murmured. "Old Sophie," she added to be on the safe side.

A hand went to her shoulder and patted it. "Hello Sophie. My name's Sal Lifton. Everyone calls me Sal. Uh," she looked to an alcove under the stairs "Do you want me to get you anything? To see either Wilbert or Howl probably means waiting all night."

Since this mean exactly what Sophie wanted, she pretended not to hear Sal. In fact, she almost certainly fell into a swift doze. So tired from all the walking. After a moment Sal gave a pitiful hum and patted Sophie on the shoulder and went back to her chair and notetaking.

So, she would have a whole night's shelter, even if under slightly false pretences, Sophie thought drowsily. With Howl being such a wicked man, it probably served him right to be imposed upon, and this Wilbert probably wouldn't mind. But she intended to be away from here by the time Howl came back and raised objections.

She looked sleepily and slyly across at Sal. It rather surprised her to find her such a nice, polite girl. After all, she did force her way in quite rudely and Sal did not complain at all. Perhaps either Howl or Wilbert kept her in abject servility. But Sal did not look servile. About her height before the Witch's spell, and respectably dressed. How odd! To be living in castle of an infamous wizard, known to eat hearts of such young girls, but this Wilbert character kept arising, maybe he stopped Howl, maybe he kept the Castle from going down the valley to terrorise Market Chipping.

And this kitchen, or living room, or workshop, so beautifully cosy and very peaceful. She realised the room didn't show any sign of the Castle moving across the hillside, no odd angle, not even the ghost of a rumble, or the tiniest shaking. How odd!

Still, things were bound to be odd where wizards were concerned, Sophie thought. Sophie went properly to sleep and snored.

She did not wake up when Sal put her stuff down and moved out of her chair making the whining of wooden feet on wooden floorboard. She did not stir when Sal knocked her stick down with a clatter, or when Sal, hesitantly looked down into Sophie's open mouth, and remarked to the fireplace, shakily, quietly and squeakily, "She has all her teeth."

As Sal looked Sophie began changing, going from a ninety-year-old, back across decades to a girl just entering womanhood. Sal focused closer, then squeaked. "Oh, the poor dear. But," she bit her lip and turned to the fire more fully, "She's not the Witch of the Waste trying any tricks?"

"I wouldn't have let her come in if she was!", the fireplace retorted. Sal shook as she back away and whimpered. "Sorry. Only asking.", she picked up Sophie's stick politely up, leaned it against the chair and went up to bed somewhere overhead.

In the middle of the night Sophie awoke with a start by someone snoring. She jumped upright, before becoming rather irritated to discover the snoring originated from her. It seemed to her she only dropped off for a second of so, but Sal seemed to have vanished in those seconds taking the light with him, no doubt the fiancée of a wizard learned to do such thing early on their courting. She then realized what she just thought and blushed, so she focused on something else. The fire got left very low, with the logs almost buried in the mound of ash built up in the grate. A cold draft blew on Sophie's back. Sophie recalled being in a wizard's castle, with unpleasant distinctness, a human skull on a workbench somewhere behind her.

She shivered and cranked her stiff old neck around, but only darkness greeted her. "Let's have it a bit lighter in here, shall we," she said. Her cracked little voice seemed to make no more noise than the crackling of the fire. Sophie turned surprised. She expected it to echo through the vaults of the castle. Still, a basket of logs sat beside the stone hearth. She elevated out of the chair and shuffled to the basket. Stretched out a creaking arm and heaved a couple of long on the fire. She walked back with a nervous look behind her. The light of the fire danced over the polished brown bone of the skull. "He's got both feet in the grave and I've only got one." Then she examined the room before commenting, "What a dump!" she sat back down. "When I think castle, this is not what I picture.", she watched the spider weaving their silk, she turned back and smiled to herself. "Well, one nice thing about getting old is nothing frightens you." She did get nervous at the dog in the bush, but not frightened.

Her eyes started feeling heavy again in the rising warmth as the fire started flaring up. She began to dreamily consider what she ought to do in the morning. With the way the castle moved about she couldn't be sure where in the Waste it would be in the morning, so she didn't know if she could make it to the Chalk. But she knew she couldn't stay here without a good excuse, and she didn't know if the unknown Wilbert, could or even would help, or if he would arrive before Howl.

But her thoughts side-tracked a little by imagining a face in the flames. Earlier she thought she saw a small trio of orange, or white-hot centres in the flame before she tossed on the logs on. Now she remembered them and thought of the two larger ones at the top as a pair of eyes, and the smaller one like a mouth. A cute little fellow, she thought, she half wondered if she spoke it out load.

"I don't envy you lady," a new voice spoke bringing the half sleeping Sophie awake, it came from her front and suddenly she really did see pair of eyes and a mouth in the fire, with arms too, talking to her, "that is one bad curse. Curses are tough, you're going to have a very hard time getting rid of that one."

Sophie blinked. "The fire spoke!"

"Let me guess, the curse won't allow you to talk about it right?"

Sophie leaned in. "Are you Howl?" for all she, or more truthfully Sal, knew, Howl could be anything, especially in his own Castle.

"No," the fire grew and grandly proclaimed, "I'm an extremely powerful fire demon named Calcifer!" he blew red deep red flames from his mouth, before adding like a footnote, "I just like to do that once in a while."

Sophie instantly turned hopefully. "A fire demon! Well, then? You should be able to break my curse."

"Maybe, maybe not. It's a strong spell," it said at length. "It feels like one of the Witch of the Waste's to me."

"It is," Sophie growled.

Calcifer continued, "But it seems more than that," he crackled. "I detect two layers. I'll have to study it."

"How long will that take?" Sophie asked, if it meant staying in the Castle she'd have to, this might be her only chance.

"It may take a while.", the demon's arm flicked and in a soft persuasive flicker, "Listen, if you can find a way to break the spell that's on me, then I'll break the spell that's on you. You got it?"

Sophie looked warily at demon. It carried a distinctly cunning look as it made this proposal. Everything she read showed the extreme danger of making a bargain with a demon. About a year ago Brazeneck University in Pseudopolis, the main rival to Unseen University, did a student recruitment scheme in Market Chipping, the Professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts, Eric Thursley, spoke until he became blue in the face against deals with demons.

"If you're a demon, how do I know I can trust you?" she cocked her head to look at him with shrewd eyes. "Do you promise to help me if I help you?"

"Eh," it drawled, "I don't know lady, demons don't make promises."

Sophie slumped into the chair, if she could have a promise, she would feel secure. She prodded him. "Then go find someone else."

The demon started to blaze as its voice started to whine, "Come on! Do you want to stay like that till you die? That spell of yours has shortened your life by about sixty years if I'm a judge of things."

A nasty thought, and one which Sophie tried not to think about up to now. It made a difference, but before she could answer Calcifer continued his rant, "And should feel sorry for me! The spell on me keeps me stuck in this castle and Howl's heartless, he treats me like I'm his slave, it burns me up! You've got to keep the water hot, the rooms warm, keep the castle moving, come on! You ever tried moving a castle? If you can figure how to break this, thing I'm in with Howl, then you can break this spell. After that, I can easily break the spell that's on you."

Despite her caution, Sophie felt a good deal of sympathy for the demon. She thought of herself making hats for Fanny, while Fanny went gadding. During the demon's rant she muttered, "Oh, that's ruff." She felt herself getting tired again, the heat of Calcifer warmed and drowsed her. "All right, it's a deal," she did her best to keep herself awake. "Tell me how I break the spell on you."

The incandescent eyes glinted at her and looked away. "I can't. Part of the, contract, is that neither the Wizard or me can say what the main clause is."

Sophie, seeing the trick the demon pulled on her, opened her mouth to tell the demon he could sit in the fireplace until the Apocalypse.

Calcifer realised she would pull out of the deal. "Don't be hasty!" he crackled. "You can find out what it is if you watch and listen carefully. I implore you to try. The contract isn't doing either of us any good in the long run. And I do keep my word. The fact I'm stuck here shows I keep it!"

Sophie saw his earnestness, leaping about on his logs in an agitated way. Sophie again felt a great deal of sympathy. "But if I'm to watch and listen, that means I must stay here in Howl's Castle,"

"Only about a month. Remember, I have to study your spell too," the demon pleaded.

"But what possible excuse can I give for doing that?"

"We'll think of one. Howl's useless at most things. In fact," he said, venomously hissing, "he's too wrapped up in himself to see past the end of his nose half the time. We can deceive him, as long as you'll agree to stay."

"Very well," Sophie said, settling herself comfortably in the chair. "I'll stay. Now find an excuse."

Calcifer thought aloud, in little cracklings, flickering murmurs, reminding Sophie rather of the way she talked to her stick on the way up here. He blazed while he thought with such a glad and powerful roaring she dozed again. She thought the demon made a few suggestions. She remembered shaking her head to the notion she should pretend to be Howl's long-lost great-aunt, and to one or two others even more far-fetched, but she did not remember very clearly. Sophie fell into a deep sleep, with a slight suspicion of being bewitched, again, as well as beguiled, but it did not bother her particularly. She would be free of the spell soon…

As Sophie fell into the deep sleep Calcifer started to call her, "Hey, lady? Lady! Hello? Lady hello! Hey, hey, hey!" after a few more shouts he tried to move closer, but both the spell, the lack of wood and abundance of ash and soot created a barrier to him. He slunk back to his grate. "Some big help you're going to be."

Still, as the spells effects faded to reveal the pretty girl underneath he couldn't help but praise Howl, he wouldn't say it out loud, but wow! Howl really outdid himself his time. Her face looked familiar too. Trying to figure out why gave him something to do while he continued moving the Castle.

* * *

 **So yes, as you may have deduced from the summary I am including the war subplot from the film. I hope I can make a little more coherent as indeed it's quite integral to the film.**

 **I feel I might have been a bit blunt with giving the other Prince of the Neighbouring Kingdom (which many fans of both the books and film are convinced is Strangia) the name of Stephen.**

 **And yes, I am having both versions of Suliman.**

 **I've changed the design of Turnip-Head/ the scarecrow (as simply referred to in the book) as I have plans for him. And, Sophie's walking stick, I have plans for that too, but nothing as consequential as Turnip-Head.**

 **The Toucan story I remembered as a boy.** ** _Two Can Toucan_** **, written by David McKee, creator of** ** _Mr Benn, Elmer_** **and** ** _King Rollo_** **.**

 **I always wondered what happened to Sal Lifton, the little girl, after** ** _Reaper Man_** **, so this is an exploration of the unforeseen consequences and collateral damage of that story. Now understand a lot of** ** _Discworld_** **fans praise the book and I can see why, especially the character development of Death. But for me personally it feels like two completely different stories vaguely stitched together.**

 **Just for a little fun I decided to throw in a mention of Eric Thrusley from** ** _Eric_** **, and a small** ** _Harry Potter_** **reference. I will say I'm far more a** ** _Discworld_** **fan than a** ** _Harry Potter_** **fan, this artwork is why: jesidres. deviantart. art/Fandom-experiences-40889408 (You of couse need to add in the standard web address parts.)  
**

 **Another inspiration to do this story was chocolatequeen's** ** _Heart Aflame_** **, which is on my favourites list on my profile. It goes through the film version entirely from Howl's perspective, and sometimes from Calcifer's, for obvious reasons. I took some of the last comments from that story.**

 **See you soon everyone.**


	4. Chapter 4

In the coastal town of Porthaven a massive amount of fanfare accompanied the departure of the local Naval Flotilla, the people of Porthaven put on a regatta as the five sisters of the Royal Sovereign Class of Dreadnoughts steamed out of the harbour mouth and towards the high, and presumably as well, the low seas, the enemy after all, could be anywhere.

The fun only lasted the first half of the day. As everyone got back to their lives. The Mayor and a Port Policeman trudged up the steep hill to a house on the crest. The words painted over the door said,

The GREAT WIZARD JENKINS

The Mayor knocked on the door.

* * *

A knocking on the door stirred Sophie. Her eyes opened to a view of the ceiling. Another trio of banging made her jump, causing her muscles to groan in agony. She slumped, annoyed, before sitting up. Her back clicked like a wooden ruler vibrating on a desk. She glanced at the door. Who could be up in the Waste? Scarecrows can't knock, Turnip-Head didn't look as if he could, or at least, not with the booming power of whoever's outside right now anyway.

As she wondered what to do fast footsteps sound from upstairs. She looked to the stairs. A lanky pair of small legs dressed in red long socks rushed along the visible gap in the banisters. Not in a dress, so it couldn't be Sal. Sophie leaned back and pretended to remain asleep, she didn't want to argue, not while she still tried to wake up.

A thirteen-year-old boy dressed in a green waistcoat, shorts, and looking almost ready to grow out of them, with a purse attached to his belt, and orange bowtie, hair slightly messed, rounded the stairs and the table, but then stopped at the old woman snoring in the chair. "Hey," he approached her, "Who's this lady?"

The bang continued. Calcifer popped up from the almost burnt log and said, "Porthaven door." The boy then looked at the door with more urgency, rushed past the old lady and to the table. "How did she get in here?" he asked.

Sophie narrowly opened her eyes to watch.

The boy, who looked only a little old than Martha, pulled a dark blue cloak off the table, causing some items, like a few pieces of paper she saw Sal working on last night, a rolled-up scroll or two and a pestle with mortar, to fall, or indeed launch off and onto the floor. Ignoring this the boy clasped the robe together and lifted the hood. Suddenly a long thick grey beard grew out of the hood and the boy walked to the door and down the steps. "Standby." He said, making his voice deeper. He reached up and turned the doorknob. Clicks sounded, above the door a wheel divided into six coloured sections. Blue, green, red, grey, orange and black.

Currently an arrow pointed to the green. But as the knob turned, so did the wheel, stopping on the blue. The little half-circle window above the door suddenly illuminated with sunlight. He swung the door open. A man with a top hat and sash stop outside, a man in dark blue, a policeman most likely stood behind him. The boy continued his charade. "Mr Mayor good day."

Mayor? He couldn't be the Mayor of Market Chipping, different moustache, slightly overweight, and with medal. The current Mayor of Market Chipping happened to be a gentleman farmer, not some retired military officer. This Mayor addressed the masquerading minor, "Good afternoon sir. Would the Great Wizard Jenkins be at home?"

Afternoon? How long did she sleep? It would explain how someone as young as the Mayor, a fellow of forty or so, could have made it to the Waste. To think, she added, a couple of days ago I'd have seen him as an old man. How one's point of view alters. Great Wizard Jenkins? A third wizard? Or perhaps the Wilbert fellow Sal mentioned, she didn't say his surname.

The boy answered the Mayor, "I'm afraid that my Master is out right now. I speak for him in his absence."

Feeling herself more awake Sophie leaned up again. Suffering a crick in the neck.

Meanwhile, the Mayor of wherever unveiled a letter. "An invitation from His Majesty the King," he announced. The boy took the letter as the Mayor continued, "The time for war is upon us! His Majesty requires that every witch and wizard in the Kingdom aid our homeland. Wizard Jenkins must report to the Palace immediately. That is all."

So, Sophie thought getting up. Strangia did declare war on Ingary, so focused on herself yesterday she didn't really consider the international situation. Somewhat confused about the Mayor and this Wizard Jenkins, Sophie, grabbing her stick to stand up, decided to put some more logs on the fire to speak with Calcifer, and to warm her bones. As well, she could start looking for hints, though as Calcifer said, the agreement between Howl and him meant he couldn't reveal it outright, maybe asking in a roundabout way would make him let slip.

Still, having to live for about a month in the Castle of the dreaded Wizard Howl, with a war going on, and needing to get help from a fire demon. "I can't believe it's come to this."

"And," the boy said, his voice still as false as his beard, currently parted by the letter, "what do you think you doing here Grandma?"

Sophie looked to the fire. "Calcifer said that I could come in," the demon jumped up between the logs and protested, "I did not! She just wondered in here from the Waste."

"She's from the Waste?" the boy asked. He pushed the beard back and let the hood drop, returning to the young, and to Sophie, kind of cute boy, just on the verge of growing up. "How do we know she's not a witch?"

"Do you really think I'd let a witch in here?" Calcifer then looked upstairs before turning back. "At least without Howl or Wilbert's word on their character."

Another knock came on the door. Before Calcifer could say anything, Sal called from upstairs, "That'll be Mr Soak with the milk!" as Sophie looked up to the gap between the ceiling and the stairway. Sal ran fast with her dress hiked up to do so. In the gaps Sophie saw a pair of ankle high boots and caught above them, fishnet stocking?

As Sal came down she fiddled and set a pocket watch, counting the number of seconds, the chain going into one of many pockets of her baggy dress. Sophie now wonder what else hid itself underneath the dress, and under her bangs too. Sal, put her watch back into her pocket and, discreetly lowered herself, no doubt to hide her chosen under attire from the boy, to reach under the table, and between the stools. She pulled out a milk bottle holder, complete with a few empties. She then descended the steps and turned to doorknob. This time to the grey setting. She opened it.

Immediately a smell entered the room. Sophie cringed and held her nose hard.

The boy nodded. "I know, it's the nasal equivalent of a foghorn."

Sophie heard such a description before, in the context then, it defined the smell of Ankh-Morpork. And yes, it illustrated what she smelt perfectly. But, how could it be the smell of Ankh-Morpork? The Castle travelled about the upper regions of the Folding Valley and the Waste.

Logically, she theorised, adding in the appearance of the Mayor, the Castle must have trudge to area of Octarine Grass Country where, firstly, Howl's reputation did not even make an appearance, never mind proceed him, allowing them to be near enough to a town so both the Mayor and a milkman to arrive and secondly somewhere in the Ramtops where the unpredictable magics either opened a portal to allow the smell of Ankh-Morpork to pass through or managed to replicate the smell itself.

When Sal closed the door Sophie never felt so relieved in her life. No sooner did Sal move away from the stairs then a bell rang.

Calcifer grumbled. "Porthaven door again." Sal squeaked and quickly returned upstairs, taking the fresh milk with her.

The boy looked to the door as he hid the letter in a large book, full of writing Sophie would never hope to recognise or understand and containing dozens of bookmarks. As he shut the book on the letter he theorised, "Must be a customer," he replaced the hood and beard and returned to the door, repeating his words and the actions from before. The wheel returned to blue. Sophie hesitated, expecting the smell to come back. The boy opened the door. But no horrible smell, instead she smelt salt and steam.

A little girl stood at the door. The boy addressed her. "Yes, my dear child?"

"My Mom sent me to pick up a spell."

Now confused, Sophie tried to get a view from out the door. Where did the smell go? Even by Ramtop level of inexplicable events a smell as, well, full of life, microscopic life anyway, couldn't disappear in only an instant. And come to think of it, her second thoughts told her, she didn't remember seeing a doorbell of any kind, pull or otherwise, on Castle backdoor.

Before she could get any decent picture of what lay beyond the door, besides a cobblestone road, the boy nodded. "Ah yes, do come in," and shut the door behind the girl. As the boy passed Sophie he muttered, "Just keep quiet and don't cause any trouble Grandma."

How rude, Sophie thought. The girl meanwhile stood just atop the steps, looking at her with some confusion. Sophie, still baffled about the door, looked past the little girl and now truly noticed the window on the left side of doorway, acting as the main source of light. Her second thoughts returned and reminded her of the outside of the Castle, no windows sat at this level of the Castle, nor if they did, they wouldn't be positioned in the same direction of the door. She quickly hobbled over to this, to her anyway, out of nowhere window. The view between the frames showed a few houses, but more importantly, the sea stretching on to the horizon. Suddenly Sophie remember Calcifer say the name Porthaven twice, she ignored the demon, thinking him a trickster, as Porthaven lay on the coast of the Rim Ocean, almost the opposite side of the Kingdom. But now, she saw it for her own eyes. "It's not the Waste?"

"Excuse me Granny?" Sophie remembered the little girl as she continued her innocent questioning, "Are you a witch too?" it made her think of the games she played with Lettie and Martha, and so she played with the girl. "That's right," she said. "I'm the scariest witch of them all!" the girl giggled, Sophie smiled, so adorable, the old nursery rhythm is right, little girls are made of sugar, spice and everything nice.

The boy, living up the snip in said nursery rhythm, cut the fun by presenting a little envelope to the girl. "Dust your ship with this powder and the wind will favour it." The girl gave over a few coins and said her thanks. The boy and Sophie went to the door and watched her leave. "Farewell child," the boy said as she opened the door, pressing on a handle beneath the knob and existed into the sea breeze of Porthaven. As soon as the door closed the boy turned to Sophie. "Quit telling lies to our customers."

How could puppy dogs' tails be so rude? Sophie thought, before she replied, "What about you? You're wearing a disguise," the boy put the coins in his purse and answered, "I have to," he pulled back his hood and the beard shrank and disappeared into his top lip, "I'm practising my magic," his reply did not really answer her point.

The bell rang again. Calcifer called over, "It's the Kingsbury door," as Sophie glanced back, the boy put his disguise on once more and descended to the door. This time he turned the knob on the door to the red setting. When this time he pulled it open, a young man in military dress stood on a pavement, which then travelled about a yard after and then dropped and left a brick road. The man nodded. "Good day. Is this the residence of the Great Wizard Pendragon?"

Pendragon now? Wizard Howl, Wilbert, Jenkins and Pendragon? Well, the Castle looked big enough from the outside to house at least four wizards and any servants they needed.

The boy meanwhile answered the man, "It is?"

"I bare a message from His Majesty the King," the man gave another letter over before continuing, "Please inform Mr Pendragon that all witches and wizards are required to report for duty at the Palace."

Sophie, wondering if she heard Calcifer right about Kingsbury made her way down the steps. The boy looked up at the man. "I will inform him right away," the man bowed his head and turned around, just as Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs and beheld the sight before her.

The man walked onto the road and climbed aboard a steam carriage, with a coat of arms on its door. Other steam vehicles trundled behind it as the carriage itself steamed away. Sophie glanced up at the towering architecture and most notably the castle on the hill and the cluster of aeroplanes in the cloudy sky, and the heat too. How it could be she didn't know, but neither did she know how with Porthaven either, she just awed. "This is Royal City isn't it?"

"Move it Grandma!" the boy yelled. "Or you'll lose your nose!" Sophie's second thought remerged and wanted to give the boy a good talking to about respecting his elders, and even without the spell, Sophie would still be his elder. But her first thought did their best to memorise the view of the capital, and the third thoughts reminded the second, of the fact Sophie is technically an intruder. So, she backed into the room and the boy shut the door. He turned to the steps and gave her an order, "And stop wondering around."

Sophie decided not the wonder, so she remained at the door, she wanted some answers. She glanced back at the boy as he disappeared, she also noticed Sal coming back down the steps, and still carry the milk bottles from earlier, none of them gave her much attention. So, she studied the doorknob. She gave it a twist, a small circular window showed the colours, for some reason the colours skipped the black and fixed on the green. A slicing sound and click came from above, Sophie glanced up seeing the colour wheel also stationed itself on green. She pressed down on the handle below the knob and pulled the door open.

A breeze caught her shawl and she gazed out at the fog filled, somewhere, the horizon of vision ended about a hundred feet away. She glanced from side to side up and around, seeing part of the Castle, so somewhere in the Waste. Without any real reference she decided to go back inside and try another colour. Not wanting to contend with the smell again just yet, she turned it to blue, laughing a little at having figured it out.

Sure enough, as she stepped out she found herself in Porthaven. To her right a man stood selling newspapers with the headline simply proclaiming:

 **WAR**

And to her left a crusty man sitting at the wall of the house smoking a pipe. Other people milled about the cobbled street, so she went back inside again. Now she felt so excited she also felt able to withstand the smell. She turned the knob to grey and opened the door once more.

The smell hit her, just as hard as before, and yes, it still smelled supernaturally ghastly, but having been subjected to it, she most certainly knew what to expect. She stepped out. Before her lay a jumble of tightly packed semi-half-timbered and semi-brink-built houses, many in the process of going from half-timbered to brinks. Narrow dead-end streets and twice as many people, and modern thinking included dwarfs, trolls, goblins and the undead as people, something Sophie well and truly agreed with, on this one street than she saw in Porthaven and Kingsbury only a minute ago put together.

Sophie also never saw so many vehicles, traffic formed a gridlocked que, she followed the line of carriages, horse-drawn and steam, lorries and carts, and the occasional Troll Taxi. It should be noted the trolls do not drive the taxies, they are the taxies, carrying up to four humans in comfortable enclosed seating slung all over its body, in return for an agreed fare. Previously they went under the term Sedan Chair, but recently introduced regulations to coincided with steam carriages and lorries meant any vehicle of a certain weight and height must use the roads. This only result in more Troll Taxies appearing in Ankh-Morpork as the increase in fare prices meant the younger and stronger trolls could earn a living.

Along with the road traffic, human-powered Sedan Chairs, the tops of dwarf ones peaked over the garden walls, cyclist either sharing the pavement with pedestrians and worked their way through the gaps in the jam. As Sophie's eyes traced down the slow-moving line something monumental caught her eye. A tower. This short description carried a lot of meaning. Pretty much the most towering tower to ever tower. Twisted and gnarled like yellow yew tree. At the top a crenulated cathedral like assembly of small turrets and other battlements.

Even in Market Chipping, people talk of Unseen University and its ancient Tower of Art, eight-hundred feet tall, with eight-thousand eight-hundred and eighty-eight steps, fabled to be the oldest building in Ankh-Morpork, and some speculate it is older than the Disc itself, although evidence for this is scarce, and no one is willing to dig around it to find out. But still, this conformed to Sophie, the grey colour led to the Twin City of proud Ankh, and pestilent Morpork. She then re-examined the street and found the sign:

Elm Street

The Shades

City of Morpork

She heard a gate shut and looked forward. An unassuming individual, who momentarily paused to drag the tails of his coat out from being trapped by the gate and walked up the path. Sophie heard a squeak behind her and some rummaging. The person stood at the doorway and smiled at Sophie. Heeled boots tapped down the steps and Sal's arm stretched out over Sophie's head. Her hand gripped a neat file. The stranger nodded and took it. Silently he walked away.

Sal gave a sigh and stepped backed away. Sophie closed the door, now she wanted to know where the other two went. Failing to contain her laughter she tried to turn it to the black, but it kept escaping from her. Above her the boy called down annoyed, "Leave it alone Grandma. I'm getting angry,"

Grinning Sophie looked up. "This is a magic house isn't it?", the boy gave a groan. She turned back and look up at him directly. "So, tell me, where do the others lead?", the boy turned and walked away. "Only Master Howl knows where the black one goes."

Sal nodded. "He's the only one who can control the black doorway. As for the orange one," she shuffled around Sophie, "Uh, if you could?", Sophie nodded and moved out Sal's way, as Sal reached for the knob Sophie asked, "Who was that outside? And the file?"

"Oh, uh," Sal stammered, "That was, Inspector Donn Widget," her hand reached into her hair and scratched the back of her ear. "He, uh, is Head of the, uh, Cable Street Particulars,", Sophie just blinked. Sal whimpered, "The, uh, Secret Police of, the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, we're, Wilbert and I, are, uh, members of them, the file was one of our reports."

Sophie decided not to pry any further into the Cable Street Particulars, encase she got locked up for asking to many questions.

Sal meanwhile returned to the door and twisted the knob to its orange setting. The door opened to a flight of slightly crocked and twisted steps descended thought the middle of a walled herb and vegetable garden, complete with a henhouse, meeting a field within a forest clearing stretched before her. A clear clearing in fact, aside from a few standing stones, nothing, no stumps or seedling tree of any kind stood beyond the circumference. The trees just didn't seem to want to grow any further in. A dusty and earthy pathway lead up to the door, it divided and went into the forest one way, and up a mountain the other. The forest continued down a hill and lead to a village tucked in between a couple of very tall and suddenly vertical mountains.

Sal stretched out her hands to present it, though the presentation did falter at her shaking, like Sophie as a young girl, Sal seemed to possess a wide area of personal space. "My, steading. Mad Stoat, uh, in Lancre."

Sophie blinked. "Steading? Lancre," she turned to the girl and asked amazed, "You're a witch?", Sal's visible eye glanced away, she nodded. "Not one of the best. I'm, uh, a better, uh, well, quack doctor than a witch."

The boy called over, "Don't sell yourself short Sal, you're a great Research Witch, that's probably why Queen Magrat and Mistress Nitt agree to have you take over. Remember the King of Copperhead agreed too," even without seeing Sal's face Sophie could tell the young witch blushed.

The boy walked over to a dresser filled with food and pulled open a draw. "I need some breakfast, I'm starved," the draw, which fought back, contained a half-used loaf of bread. On top of the dresser sat a plate holding a large wedge of cheese and big and full basket of eggs, behind them a silver domed platter, and fruit and vegetables all scattered about. The boy took the loaf and the cheese.

Sophie approached and pulled the platter out, she lifted the dome to discover a load of bacon, she turned to the boy as he went to the cluttered table. "Don't you want some bacon and eggs?"

As the boy pushed the jumble of things, skull included, down the table to make some space, he answered, "Yeah, but we can't use the fire, Master Howl's not here," Sal nodded as she made a wide berth around the fireplace, "Wilbert tends to have breakfast at the University, and I make myself meals in the cottage," she pointed back to the door, still set to orange.

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Where exactly our we? The inside of Castle I mean,"

Calcifer spoke up, "We're in the Castle, the insides only about the size a three-storey house," he turned to Sal. "I still don't know how Wilbert managed to get it here from the Foggy Islands, that's way over next to Fourecks."

Sophie blinked. XXXX, the Terror Incognita, used to be considered, up until about twenty years ago, a myth. Until one Professor Rincewind of Unseen University got into a slightly botched long-distance transport spell and ended up on it. In the years since University has kept a health relationship with the native wizards and have exchanged students on occasion. Wilbert must have been an exchange student, but to get a house from the area to the Waste, something like six-thousand miles? This Wilbert must be very powerful.

Just then, Sophie's stomach growled. It occurred to her she didn't have any dinner last night, in fact any meal beyond the bread and cheese she ate before meeting Turnip-Head. And the Mayor of Porthaven said good afternoon to the boy, as well as being breakfast time in Ankh-Morpork.

At the same time, the colour wheel sounded. Everyone turned as it settled on grey. Sophie held her nose as it opened. In walked in a wizard. From afar you could recognise him as a wizard, but closer you found a very different wizard. Generally, wizards are very well fed, having at least four-square meals a day while doing nothing but studying magic, they like to wear pointy hats, boots with curled points, and velvet robes with a lot of mystic sigil embroidery and have long beards.

To begin with, the one at the door did not have a beard, or indeed facial hair of any kind, this all got translated into a soft glowing white waterfall of hair stopping at his shoulder blades.

By his caped sleeveless overcoat, this wizard would have to be called "the Tartan", in this case, red, black and white, Sophie understood Unseen University wizards generally wore red and no longer wore robes, instead adopting and adapting current fashion to be accepted better in society. The wizard slung the coat off to show underneath a full black evening dress suit, a tail and waistcoat penguin suit, without any embroidery, mystical or otherwise. A pair of aviator goggles hanging around his neck covering his shirt collar, but through the lenses Sophie saw no tie or cravat. Under his white gloved hands, more specifically his finger, Sophie noticed ring shaped bulges. One on the ring finger of his left hand, causing her to glance to Sal's engagement ring briefly, the other middle right.

His shoes did go to a point, but they didn't curl. The gossip in the hat shop called this fashion style winkle pickers. And speaking of points, his hat. Sophie figured it did have a point, more of a pinch though, he did not wear the stereotypical tall, probably held up by some wired structure, conical, almost comical, wizard's, and witch's hat, no, he wore a Fedora, and a black one.

Finally came the man's body structure. Wizards generally looked like small hill. So, focused on the wizardry she forgot to look at the man. Thankfully age meant she, physically, reacted to him differently than she would have as an eighteen-year-old. With his handsome and slightly equine face, combined with his hair and structure, he looked like a destrier warhorse transfigured into a man.

Sal turned and leaned to Sal and whispered. "You are quite a lucky girl," Sal gave a happy sigh and nodded shallowly.

The only thing to really showcase his wizardry he held in his hand. His staff. Only slightly taller than him. Sycamore, with an elaborate ornament on the top. A rampant unicorn with wings. As his removed his tartan coat he swiftly switched it between gloved hands to take his sleeves out. He bunched up the coat and climbed the step with a smile. "Morning all!"

Sal walked up and embraced him, softly, the side of her head pressed into his chest. With equal softness of her hug she said, "Hi Wilbert," the wizard's face softened as he leaned down and kissed Sal on the head. Though this care surprised Sophie, it made some sense. A person as big and strong as Wilbert didn't need to be violent, he could merely pick up two men fighting and hold them a part until they stopped struggling. "Hello Sal," he said sweetly. "Everything all right today?", she nodded with a humming confirmation before letting him go.

Sophie then noticed something, only since it disappeared. The two seemed to occupy their own two-person universe.

Wilbert then looked at Sophie and his eyes narrowed. "And who are you madam?"

Sophie became quite rigid and tongue-tied. This Wilbert did not quite fit the image she thought last night. Although, she thought, he probably didn't fit into any image people have of wizards.

Sal saw Sophie struggling to speak. "Oh, uh, this is Sophie, she, uh, came in last night from the Waste looking for help from either you or Mr Howl," Wilbert raised his head with an "Ah," and nodded "I see," he looked about ready to say more when Sal's stomach growled. She squeaked and pressed herself into Wilbert.

Sophie sighed with a smiled "There's nothing to be scared off, it's just an empty stomach," her stomach growled too. Chuckling she shuffled over to the firing pans hanging on the wall. "Don't worry I can cook," she then hooked the basket of eggs with her arm and took the place of bacon, before hobbling over to Calcifer.

The boy called over. "It doesn't matter if you can cook, Calcifer only obeys Master Howl."

Wilbert nodded. "I did try some of the language in the _Mallificarum Sumpta Diabolicite Occularis Singularum_ , the Book of Ultimate Control, but no, the contract between him and Howl is a lot more binding than the most thoroughly done magic circle. I don't think even Mr Slant could find a loophole."

Calcifer flared. "That's right lady, I'm not taking any orders from you," he blew a raspberry as Sophie put the basket and the plate on the chair, humming to herself. As she did put it down she saw something on the floor. "Oh, there's my hat," suffering a few stiff groans she picked it up and place it behind the basket and propped her stick on the top rail of the chair. She took the pan and rolled up her shawl. "All right Calcifer. Let's get cooking."

"I don't cook!" crackled the fire demon in protest. "I'm a scary, all powerful fire demon!" once again he stuck out his tongue. Sophie smiled at the childish display. "How would you like a bucket of cold water in your face?" she then leaned on as close as the heat allowed and whispered, "Or maybe I should tell Howl about our bargain?"

This whipped at Calcifer. "Stupid me," then he spat, "I never should have should have let her in here!" Sophie pushed the pan at him. "So, what will it be?" Calcifer did his hardest to push the pan away, but the pressure, both in weight and in anxiousness forced him to bow his head under the pan. Sophie smiled. "That's right, that's a good fire," she began placing slices of bacon onto the sizzling pan. Calcifer managed to poke eyes and mouth out from underneath. "He's another curse, may all your bacon burn."

Sal giggled. Wilbert hummed and raised an eyebrow. "Did Calcifer just say, another curse?", as Sophie glanced back, Sal spoke up, "Uh, yes, that's why she needs help, someone cursed her,", Sophie blinked. "You know?", Sal nodded. "Witches train to see the world for what it really is, not what people want to see. You're a girl younger than me but cursed to be an old woman."

Wilbert narrowed his eyebrows and spoke, "Judging from the design and style of the curse, I'm not going to be able to break it, different magic," Sophie nodded. "Then I'll find a way of breaking it," Calcifer huffed.

The boy meanwhile blinked. "Calcifer's doing what she says…" Sophie returned to the pan but suggested. "I think I'd like some tea too. Do you have a kettle?"

"Sure," the boy nodded and got down from his stool. Passing the still standing and thoughtful Wilbert and Sal, who started clearing the table. Calcifer yelled at him, "Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? Don't get the kettle!" he spat as the boy search the sink full of unwashed pots and pans. Sophie shuddered at the pink and grey slime in it and the white slim dripping from the pump above it. The fire roared at the boy, "Markl! Markl! What are you doing?"

Markl? Thought Sophie, an unusual name, though it does sound right for a wizard.

Suddenly all talk stop as the colour wheel spun to black. Markl looked to the door as he pulled up the kettle. The door opened to a black void, and, Sophie blinked. The man from May Day staggered in. In the excitement of their first meeting she never got a good look at him fully. Here he looked a real fop, flamboyant with a pink and grey diamond patterned suit slung over his shoulders, not even held by his arms, he held a small harp in his hand, made of an almost golden wood, and shaped like a dragon's head. Markl walked up and greeted him, "Master Howl,"

Good gracious! Sophie's inner thoughts said collectively, Wizard Howl is only a child in his twenties? It made such a difference to be old, she thought as she turned the bacon over in the pan. She would rather die than let this overdressed boy know she'd been the girl he took pity on during May Day. And hearts did not enter the equation. Her second thoughts declared Howl would never know, the others agreed.

Markl continued, "The King's messengers were here," Howl shut the door and the wheel returned to the Ankh-Morpork setting. As he went to the stairs Markl carried on, "They said to report to the Palace, as both Pendragon and Jenkins."

So, Sophie thought as she turned to him, Howl uses both names. Her eyes darted back to the statue like Wilbert, then what about him?

Howl approached, something compelled him to put the harp next to the skull, he bought them together, they just seemed to fit together, and observed the scene at the fireplace. He glanced at the lady making herself busy, then turned with bemusement to the fire demon. "Calcifer? You're being so obedient," the fire demon flared, "Not on purpose! She bullied me!"

"No just anybody can do that." He returned to newcomer. "And you are, who?"

Sophie remembered she needed an excuse. In daylight the room, which Sophie now knew to be most probably the largest room of the few rooms in the Castle, looked amazingly dirty, the floorboards stained and greasy, on top of the mound of ash in the fender and the webs of silk, both intricate nets and cob varieties, hung in the droops of the beams. She glanced at Sal and Wilbert, with their work as a witch, a wizard and both as secret police they wouldn't have time to clean the place. A spark of inspiration hit her. She looked to Howl and smiled. "You can just call me Grandma Sophie, I'm your new cleaning lady, I just started work today,"

Howl looked away for her, but leaned in. "Give that to me," Sophie whimpered as the young man's body pressed into hers, she shuffled aside as he took the panhandle and the spoon she used to move the strip of bacon about, his smooth and silky hand connecting for a moment. As her thought argued with each other she backed away. Howl then gave an order, "Hand me two more slices of that bacon, and six of the eggs," he then paused and turned to Sal "Do you and Wilbert want anything?"

"Oh," Sal flinched "well, uh, I could do with some breakfast, I'll get the milk for the tea," she turned to Wilbert. Who still stood eyes narrowed and serious. He looked like a statue, one of those good ones by the Ancient Ephebian sculptors or Leonard of Quirm. She tried not to imagine the wizard with nothing but a fig leaf, Sophie did not want to suffer the consequences of annoying another magic user.

Still, Sal smiled and rolled her eyes, she reached up and tapped his shoulder, almost having to tiptoe. Wilbert flinched. "What?" he turned to Sal, she pointed to Howl, Wilbert flinched again. "Oh Howl, sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I was miles away there."

Howl chuckled. "Same as ever eh Wilbert?" he flipped the bacon. "Do you want something to eat?"

Wilbert shook his head. "No thank you. I already eat at the University," and he proceeded to help Sal clear the table. Howl nodded. "Okay then. Sophie, will you pass me three slices of bacon and eight eggs then, please," he picked up the pan and turned to her, being careful not to spill too much greasy. Sophie turned flustered and glanced between the firing pan and the food on the chair. Quickly she picked up three slices of the bacon and plonked them on the pan, they started sizzling instantly. Howl moved the pan back over Calcifer. Sophie then picked through the eggs, handing them to Howl one at a time, the wizard managed to crack each one singlehandedly, lightly tapping them on the stone of the hearth, once the white and yolk fell onto the pan he gave the eggshells to Calcifer. Much to Sophie's amazement and slightly disgust, the fire demon happily ate them.

"So then," Howl asked after cracking the fourth egg, "Who hired you to clean?"

Sophie decided to give a half-truth, "Uh, Calcifer did. He's disgusted by how dirty it is in here," Howl gave a hum, then he turned to the boy. "Markl get the plates," he walked over to the table.

As Sophie watched, Calcifer jumped in his logs. "Wait second? You're all going to eat while I do all the work!" he grew large in his anger. Sal shrieked and buried herself into Wilbert's back, Wilbert himself steeled and glared down at the fire demon. "What work? For the moment you not moving the Castle and keeping the water hot is simple once you understand the plumbing. And no, I'm not going to eat. I agree with Absentee Mr Tugelbend," a long-term student wizard from Wilbert's first year at Unseen University, when he arrived at the age of seven, Victor Tugelbend disappeared during Exams Week the same year, not long after the investment of Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully. "It's less effort to do things with decent muscles than achieving them while dragging around rolls of fat and flab. Makes it much easier to perform magic,"

As the fire demon grumbled, Markl called over, "Come have some breakfast Sophie," divided between Calcifer's plight, the need to lay low around Howl and her hunger, Sophie shuffled to the cleaner table as Sal brought the teapot and the milk over. Howl and Wilbert pushed and stacked a few books to make extra room as Markl cleaned a plate. "Have seat," with his foot he pulled out a stool. As she sat down, next to the skull and the harp, Howl put a slice of bacon and a pair of eggs on one of the plates, Wilbert talked with him, "I'm afraid there's still no updates on Imp y Celyn, he just disappeared after Sheepridge, the Guild of Musicians is getting quite worried, with their Guild Leader missing people are going to start asking questions, Lord Vetinari most of all,"

Sophie nodded internally, everyone on the Disc knew of Havelock Vetinari and his icicle like pragmatism.

Howl shrugged. "Why would you assume I've looked for him?"

"It seemed like something you would do, I thought you might know something," Wilbert then went to put his coat and staff down somewhere. Howl didn't answer, he just puts the food on the plates and gave them to the expectant eaters. When Sophie got her plate and after Markl hurriedly poured some tea, spilling a bit around the saucer-less cup, she bushed some of the dust off the table. Markl then presented some cutlery. "Which do you want? You only get one cause the rest are dirty," Sophie took one of the spoon and wiped the small bit of grim from it, what did this household call dirty? "Looks like I've my work cut out for me."

Howl shut his eyes and sliced the loaf of bread left on the table. He offered a slice to his fellow dinners. He put the loaf down. Wilbert sat beside Sal, now with a newspaper. He looked at the front page and sniffed. "Miss Cripslock must have had a day off judging by the headline,"

Sophie looked at the header,

The Ankh Morpork Times

The Truth shall make Ye Free

The headline read,

Man spends 11 hours trying to make one cup of tea with Wi-Pry connected kettle

From gossip over the years Sophie heard the wizards of Unseen University's Thaumatological Park developed a magically powered semaphore system to compete with the Grand Trunk, Wi-Pry begin short for Wizard Precision, with the addition of bad Ankh-Morpork spelling, and true to anything with magic, it didn't go well.

Before Sophie could ask further on this story Howl finished setting the table and breakfast. "So, friends," he announced, picking up his cup, "Enjoy. Bon Appetit," Markl repeated it excitedly. "I can't remember the last time we had a real breakfast!" he quickly dug into his food with more enthusiasm than etiquette, practically sucking one of his fried eggs into his mouth.

Wilbert blinked from over the paper. "There isn't a time limit you know Markl,"

Sophie sighed. "Even the manners are a mess in this house," as she did her best to spoon out her egg Howl spoke up, "So, what do you have hidden in your pocket Sophie?" this caused Sophie to stop before taking her bite. "Huh?" she asked, as the yolk slipped off her spoon. She felt her left pocket. Something roughly square and flat brushed against the cloth. She pulled out a folded piece of red paper. "What is this?" she mused lightly examining it.

"Give it to me," Howl said, in a quiet demanding tone. Not knowing what else to do Sophie obliged. When Howl's fingers touched the paper, it ignited. Both Sophie and Howl flinched back. The paper dropped to the table, flattened open and burned away, however it left a burnt pattern on the table. The pattern looked like a comet, flying over a man, something else float between the comet head and the man, and to the side a sunset.

Markl gasped. "Scorch marks!" he turned to his master. "Howl? Can you read them?" both Howl and Wilbert leaned into look at them. Sal cringed away from the smoking burn marks. Howl looked with wide-eyed awe, of every kind, his hair started to rise. "That is ancient sorcery. And quite powerful too," Markl made a guess, "It from the Witch of the Waste?" Sophie glanced between them. Then Wilbert added his two cents, "I've only ever seen this in grimoire," his expression darkened. "How the Witch of the Waste knew about this I have no idea, she's different to what I thought,"

Howl began the translation, "You who swallowed a falling star, oh heartless man, your heart shall soon belong to me." He paused and glanced to Wilbert, his friend eyed it wryly. Howl decided to break the tension, "That can't be good for the table," Wilbert nodded. "The Witch of the Waste isn't one for poetry. It's more of an omen than a curse, astrological event and all."

Howl put his hand down onto the mark. The embers grew into flames to attempt a resistance, bathing the room in the light fantastic, a rather disappointing fluorescent purple. He wiped his hand over it. Sophie and Markl leaned in further. Wilbert returned to his paper but looked over it as he turned a page. Sal inched away. Howl's face remained a calm smug, but every so often he twitched as he methodically moved his hand over the burned scar on the woodwork.

Finally, he reached the end and the mark gave up. The magical light of the battle between the two faded away. Markl leaned in. "Wow! It's gone," Howl rubbed his hand. "The mark may be gone, but the spell is still there," he stood up and took hold of his plate. "Excuse me, my friends. Please continue your meal," he walked over to the fireplace. "Calcifer, move the Castle six miles turnwise," he dumped his uneaten breakfast into the fire demon's mouth, said demon blazed happily at a proper meal. Howl then went to the stairs, but halfway up he looked down. "And while you're at it make hot water for my bath," he continued up as Calcifer grumbled, "Fine, not like moving the Castle isn't hard enough,"

When Howl left Wilbert turned another page. "Getting cursed so easily like that would make anyone lose their appetite, even a wizard,"

Markl turned to Sophie with narrowed eyes. "You're not working for the Witch of the Waste, are you?" Sophie fumed and snapped, "I would never work for that witch! She's the one who put this spell on me!" Markl shivered at the angry old woman.

Sal titled her head. "Why did she do that?" Wilbert hummed. "She needed to get that curse for Howl here somehow, still, she took quite a gamble to assume Sophie would arrive here at the Castle," he shook his head and muttered, "Wicked withes, they get so convoluted."

This made Sophie even madder. The Witch of the Waste cursed her, solely to use her as some carrier pigeon to put some long-winded curse on Howl? Used her? Exploited her even, all to curse another person? And her own curse is just collateral damage?

She banged the table. Everyone flinched. Markl grabbed his plate. Wilbert clutched as many of the falling books as possible. Sophie ignored this. "If I ever get my hands on that witch I'm going to wring her fat neck!" she slumped onto her stall and glared at Markl. "Finish your breakfast," she ordered with gritted teeth.

As Markl put his plate back on the table, Wilbert and Sal picked up the scattered objects. The wizard glanced to his witch fiancée and whispered, "She's nearly as strong as you Sal," she gave a short hum and glanced away.

Markl tucked into his bacon. Sophie seemed caught up in her anger and payed no one any attention. Markl looked to Wilbert. "What do you mean about Wicked witches?"

Wilbert paused in his book stacking and drummed his fingers up a spine. He sighed. "They're the kind who go Cackling," he turned to Sal. "I'm not as well learned in witches' magic as you Sal maybe you should explain," Sal whimpered and rubbed her arm, then she nodded. Her emerald eye glanced at Sophie, who now finished her breakfast. "Aright," she said and took her stool. "But I need to be taken seriously," her hand pulled her curtain bangs from her face and around her ears.

Sophie blinked. She didn't expect this. Sal looked, indiscernibly beautiful, Martha and Lettie would have a hard time next to her. Even as an old woman Sophie felt drawn the Sal. Even the one thing which on an average person would make them flawed, just seemed to add to her looks. Heterochromia eyes, the covered right eyes turned out to be brown compared to the left being green. Sophie imagined even the most proper and sensible of people, men and women would want her. Now she considered Wilbert to be the lucky one.

Markl blinked. "Wow! Is one of your eyes magical?"

Sal sighed and blushed. "No, neither of them is magical. Although, some have speculated the cause of them becoming mismatch with partly magical, it happened because of that fire. Mr Bill Door said he saved me by hidden in the cellar, but the inn didn't have a cellar, and not long after a living skeleton horse appeared in Miss Flitworth's hay barn, Mr Door stay with old Miss Flitworth," she shook her head and slapped on the table. The shock caused everything remaining on the table to jump nearly half a foot in the air, made the table itself pivot up on Markl's end, and dented it. Sal squeaked and quickly put her hands behind her back.

She took a breath in, exhaled. The top of her dress shifted. "Now," she said with some slight firmness, "What I'm going to explain is important, I need you all to look at me seriously, not brush me over as some overly shy girl, I have other reasons to conceal myself as I do," she bit her lip at the stares Sophie and Markl gave her. "Please, just listen do what I say, and, uh, please don't keep focusing on my looks," unable to speak in shock at the presence of her, both her beauty, and her strength, they simply nodded. Sal sighed and took another breath. "Okay, this is what Cackling means…"

There is a reason why witches never use magic as freely as a wizard would, and at Unseen University some the top Faculty members prefer not to use magic at all. A witch's reasonability in a nutshell is to solve problems. If a witch tries to solve all her problems with magic it would be easy, but magic always has a price, a certain witch may consider it a cost worth paying so she does it for all her problems. More and more of them and you begin slide down, you start thinking you know better than everyone else, so you might as well run their lives for them.

And if they don't like it, well, they just become another problem, and so the ignorant fools would look so much better as a frog or a cockroach. And transforming your cottage into gingerbread makes so much sense. Isolated Clacking witches are the source of many fears and superstitions about witchcraft, so no witch wants to see another sister of the Craft start Clacking.

Sal finished and glanced to Wilbert. "Didn't you have a cousin who went Cackling?" Wilbert groaned and nodded. "Lily Weatherwax, yes. The family doesn't talk about her."

Sophie blinked. "Weatherwax?" Wilbert flinched. "Oh, didn't I introduce myself? Sorry, my mind was on other things," he typed his hat. "Wilbert Weatherwax. Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University,"

Before Sophie could say anything, a watch chimed. Sal pulled out the watch, Sophie recalled the one she used for the milkman rested in a different pocket. Sal's awe-inspiring eyes blinked. "Oh dear, I'm going to be late!" she got up and put her hair back into place covering her face. The spell of her looks faded, but the expression Sophie shared with Markl said everything, they wouldn't forget it.

Sal meanwhile, ran up the stairs and stopped across the half-hidden balcony. After a moment or two she came running down with a broomstick held in one hand. She passed them fast, however, managed to say to Sophie, "The brooms and cleaning supplies are in the cupboard above the balcony. And uh, please try not to get the brooms mixed up. And, uh, lastly, all rubbish and waste should be sent to Lord Harry King," she finished as she turned the knob to the orange door of Mad Stoat, flung to door opened and literally flew out the door side-saddle on the broomstick. The door shut after her.

Sophie blinked and turned to Wilbert. The Vice-Chancellor turned a page in the _Times_. Sophie cleared her throat. "Where's Sal going?" Wilbert sighed. "Someone in the village is on their deathbed. One of her duties as the Research Witch of Mad Stoat is to be there," his eyes darted briefly to skull, and the harp, which managed to survive both Sophie and Sal's assault on the table. "Sal has a knack at knowing when people are going to be born and are dying," he stood up. "If you need me I'll be upstairs in my workshop," he went to collect his coat and staff before going upstairs.

* * *

 **First off, I have no idea how I managed to write so much for this chapter, it just kept going.**

 **Markl here is meant to be a combination of Michael from the book, and Markl from the film. I went with Markl for the name, because as I justified above it's a suitable Discworld wizard's name, especially compared to the names we see the early books.**

 **I hope Wilbert will not be considered a Gary Stu. Anyway, onto some of his details. He started off as the main character of failed project of mine, then as a highly influential supporting character in another, but I've re-written it and replaced him in that one. I finally managed to use him here. A side goal of this story was to test out Sal and Wilbert's personalities as I plan to use, slightly different versions in a novel I have in notes and bit and pieces. Any advice would greatly help.**

 **His coat is an Inverness Coat, the tartan is the Ramsey Tartan.**

 **Some of you might recognise where the winged unicorn comes from.**

 **The newspaper headline is based on a real story. www. theguardian technology/2016/oct/12/english-man-spends-11-hours-trying-to-make-cup-of-tea-with-wi-fi-kettle. One person commented it sounds like something out a cyberpunk dystopia written by Douglas Adams.**

 **What an interest world that would be. However, I'm not much of a science fiction writer.**

 **Farewell for now.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sophie found the broom cupboard. Just as Sal said, along with the compartments for a pair of broomsticks with Sal and Wilbert's name over them, a regular looking broom and a collection of other supplies for cleaning, bucket included, most of them didn't appear to be from any set, and some look used.

She noted Wilbert's broomstick looked too well-made for sweeping, indeed too well-made to be kept in a cupboard. The handle looked like ebony, with an indentation in front of the saddle, and a registration number engraved in it. The bristle of birch all curved and arrange to make a streamlined shape. The metalwork of the saddle, footrest and bands around the twigs looked a dark metal, one Sophie didn't recognise at all.

Sophie took the regular looking cleaning supplies and went down to the first room, now much to her relief the largest in the Castle. The only thing to do, she decided, would be to show Howl how excellent a cleaning lady now worked for him, a real treasure. She tied an old rag around her wispy white hair. First, she cleared the table and covered it with a large rough sheet, then she put the stools on top, legs pointed up.

"What are you doing?" cried Markl and Calcifer in a horrified chorus.

"Cleaning up," Sophie replied firmly. "This place is a disgrace."

Calcifer said, "It doesn't need it," and Markl muttered, "Howl will kick you out!" but Sophie ignored them both. To start with she used the broom to get the dust and ancient cobwebs out of the ceiling. Large flacks and dust flew in clouds. "I've had enough of this," she grumbled. Then she twirled the broom and swept the floor with the skill akin to the Sweeper of the Monastery of Oi Dong. A community of creepy-crawlies scurried away at her evicting command, "All you bugs better run, before I bash your heads off!"

Next, she cleared the clutter from the alcove under the stairs. "I'm sick of being treated like some timid, little old lady!" a family of mice retreated to shelter behind the dresser.

With all the dust about Markl needed to open both the door and the window. But where? No one in Ankh-Morpork would knew him or Sophie, but with the infamous Lord Vetinari and his fabled Dark Clerks he couldn't risk the Castle being found out. If anyone from Mad Stoat who came knocking, it would look weird to see this going on in their witch's house. The house in Kingsbury would be too dignified for this and he wouldn't want to lose anything in the Waste. He reasoned since the little girl from Porthaven saw Sophie, and knowing how children chatter, Porthaven would be the safest bet.

Almost as soon as the door changed, and the window went from covered up, since in the other places the window didn't exist, to showing the view of the sea, Sophie flung it open and hung a carpet out for airing. Markl rushed to get as much of the magic books and equipment out as possible, he put on his disguise and rushed out, this would probably make people think him a dwarf. Help another book on the table outside when an old man, who'd been there for the past hour or so asked him something, "Hello sir. Is my potion ready?"

Markl looked at him. "Come back later. There's a witch on a rampage in there."

Sophie meanwhile, flung a bucket of water on the floorboards and swept them with a brush. After this, she put the bucket by the sink. As she moved to do the next job, Calcifer flickered. "Sophie, please, I'm going out," indeed, most of his last log sank into the ash, only allowing as much as a matchstick worth of burnable wood. "Please," he whimpered, "Get me some firewood,"

Instead Sophie grabbed a pair of tongs and used them to take hold of the log. Calcifer wisped frightened. "Whoa, wait, what are you doing!" his tiny arm sprung out to grab the wood as Sophie lifted it up. The fire demon emerged from the ashes, a lump, Sophie assumed it to be something like coal, but you never knew with demons. Calcifer started to burn harder in scared protest, "No don't! Don't, I'll fall. Crazy lady with tongs!"

"You'll be fine," Sophie said, letting the log settle on the rim of a tripod pot. "I'm just sweeping out the ashes," Sophie hummed amid Calcifer's whining as she took a scoop like implement and pulled the ash off the heath and down onto a sheet she laid down to keep as much as possible for Harry King's collector. With the hearth clean she tied the corners together and pulled the now heavy sack to the door. She shut it and turned the knob to the grey of Ankh-Morpork. She dragged the sack to the gate at the front.

Then a clattering filled the air. Something resembling a scale model of the Castle shambled up the street. Sophie then looked again and saw it as a creature with an assortment of rubbish strapped to its back, including dozens of sacks. It stopped at the gate, looked Sophie up and down then the sack. A pointy and furry snot poked out of the collection and sniffed the bag. Eyes blinked and darted to her. "Wood ash? Never known so much in one go," a young male voice said.

Sophie took a punt. "Are you one of Harry King's collectors?" it nodded. "Yes, name's Samothrip, I'm a gnoll," Sophie tilted her head. "Isn't Samothrip that legendary place the Ephebians and Latatians said a race of fighting women come from?" Samothrip shrugged. "Can't rightly say. We just call each other after places, head of my barrow in Unreal Estate is our Great-Uncle Borogravia," he took the sack and slung it on his back. He glanced back at the house. "First time I've seen waste out of Number Seven since Mr Weatherwax took up residence," Sophie nodded. "I'm his new cleaning lady."

"Oh," Samothrip said. "So, we can expect some more rubbish then?"

"Probably," Sophie said unsure. The gnoll nodded. "Just leave any waste in the bin," he looked about and frowned. "No bin?" he tutted. "Lord Harry's not going to like this," he shuffled along. "I'll see you in few days then. Cheerio." Sophie waved at him.

Once the gnoll left, she returned to the Castle. She stopped at the top of the stairs and gave a small gasp.

Howl stood before the hearth, after about two hours, presumably at his bath. He held a hand out over Calcifer as the demon rose among the new logs. He wore a different suit to the pink and grey. Instead a cream suit with purple triangular addition. He glanced at her. "I'd appreciate it, if you didn't torment my friend," he then approached. Sophie got out of his way, now noticing Markl behind her and the Porthaven door open. As Howl walked down to the door Markl asked. "Master Howl? Are you going out now?" Howl shut the door and turned the knob to black. He glanced back at the two of them. "Markl, make sure the cleaning lady doesn't get carried away I'm gone, I'd ask you to tell Wilbert that too, but you know how distracted in his own thoughts he gets," he turned back to the door and opened it. A strong gale blew in, the doorway extended to a blackness, but with an orange glow. He leapt into the seeming abyss and the door shut after him. The wheel turned back to Ankh-Morpork.

Markl glanced back at her. "Sophie? What did you do now?"

Calcifer roared his reply, "She almost smothered me! If I die Howl dies too I hope you know!" Sophie walked up to the fire demon and glared at him. "Be quiet! You're all right," she went to the stairs. "Now quit bothering me I have a job to do," Markl came rushing up, clamber to the middle of the stairway and held his arms out. "Wait! You can't come up here," he ordered. Sophie smiled softly. "Whatever you don't want me to clean," she said slyly. "You'd better hide it now,"

Markl gasped and looked back to the second floor before flustered asked her, "Save my room for last okay?" and he ran up as fast as he could, almost stumbling at the top.

Sophie chuckled. "These little outbursts seem to be giving me some energy," and she proceeded up with brush and bucket.

On the second floor she found the place in as much the state as the living room, with the addition of a chair, one which used to look quite stately, now shoved in a corner with the back detached and laying behind the seat. "What a mess!" Sophie opened the nearest door. A large bathroom extended from it. In some ways it looked like one normally found in a palace, full of luxuries such as an indoor toilet, a shower stall, an immense bath with clawed feet and a mirror taking up an entire wall. But a bathroom even dirtier than the living room. Sophie flinched at the colours of the bath, and the walls, recoiled from the green weed growing in the shower, easily avoided looking at the shrivelled shape in the mirror due to it being plastered with blobs and runnels of nameless substances. The nameless substances themselves were crowded on to a shelf over the bath. In jars, boxes tubes and hundreds of tattered brown packets and paper bags. The biggest jar carried a label naming it DRYING POWER in crooked letters, making Sophie unsure whether there should be a D in it or not. Groaning in disgust she looked away, only to wince at the toilet. A cloud of steam hung in the room too, so Sophie went to the window and flung it open.

The view made her gasp and cry. She looked up and around at the clacking, undulating and groaning mass of the Castle as it scurried along a rocky outcrop of one of the many mountains of the Ramtops. For the life in her Sophie didn't know the name of this one, or if it even did have a name. Only a few other than the central spire of Cori Celesti, the home of the Gods did, Copperhead being one of the few, small enough to be big enough to have a name. The edge of the outcrop went sheer down making a pine covered canyon with a bright blue river flowing seemingly miles below.

The wind blew the pink rag of her head and started playing with her hair. But it didn't faze her. Even now she couldn't feel the movement of the Castle. "Incredible!" she shouted down, "Calcifer! Calcifer?" she ran to the stairs. "Are you the one moving the Castle?"

The fire demon crackled from the hearth below. "Of course, I am! No one else does any work around here," Sophie reached the balcony and smiled with glee at him. "I am thoroughly impressed! You're a first-class fire demon, I like you're spark!" she winked at him and rushed back upstairs.

Calcifer stared silently at the stairs. Something fluttered inside him. A real smile crossed his face for the first time in a long while. "She, like my SPARK!" he blazed with glory and laughed. His flames burst from the chimneys and the steam of the Castle increased.

Sophie went up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. Markl, on her right shouted about not being ready and he shut the door. Sophie glimpsed him holding a box protectively, with a blue ribbon and a spun sugar rose in it, on top of what seemed to be letters.

So, Sophie thought as she went to a nearby door, Markl has a sweetheart!

From a door on her right, Wilbert peered out and asked, "What's with all the ruckus?" Sophie pulled her door open and the spar breeze flooded the hallway. The door led out to an awning covered observation deck. As she stepped out the Castle started to slow, and she went to the rallying. The landscape stretched onward. A lake, resembling a sink and the mountains as the bowl, low clouds rolled past. Below them horned creatures leapt out of the way. The view so mountainous another name would need to be devised.

Markl and Wilbert joined her. The boy looked between the lake and to Sophie while the Vice-Chancellor held onto his hat. Sophie spoke her mind. "It's beautiful,"

"Yeah," Markl replied. "It's called Star Lake,"

Wilbert added to the conversation, "Hubwards into those mountains and we'd be in Enlightenment Country,"

A tapping just below them caught Markl's attention. A long stick wriggled from an entrance port in the frog face of the Castle. "Hey?" Markl asked. "What's that stick doing there?" Sophie and Wilbert leaned down to get a better look. The cleaning lady groaned. "Oh dear," she said as she grabbed hold of the end. "Give me a hand you two," the trio grabbed parts of the pole and pulled. Something hit the roof of the tunnel opening, so they rolled it right before pivoting it up. With it the right way up Markl commented. "It's a scarecrow,"

Sophie put her fists to his hips. "Yep. I've been calling him Turnip-Head. Somehow, he always manages to get stuck upside down,"

Wilbert hummed. "It's got quite a lot of Octarine coming off it," his foot turned to the door. "I'll go get my instruments," before he could move however, Turnip-Head sprung up from the deck and onto one of the ornamental battlements. He started hopping and twirling. Sophie did her best to explain, "He keeps following me everywhere. Seems to have taken a liking to me," Markl looked at her. "That's weird. Are you sure you're not a witch Sophie?" briefly she turned to him worried, but she brushed it away, why would any kind of magic want to be associated with her? "Oh yes," she playfully replied. "I'm the worst kind of witch ever, the kind that cleans!"

Wilbert rolled his eyes. After Sal explained about Cackling and Sophie makes a joke about it, really some of the best witches clean intently. He recalled talking with Mistress Tiffany Aching and Nanny Ogg about his distant cousin, the late great Esmerelda "Granny" Weatherwax, she spent the day before her death cleaning her cottage to perfection. Although she didn't remove the spider from the scullery, and neither Tiffany, who initially inherited the steading, nor Geoffrey Swivel, the Calm Weaver, Royal Ambassador of Lancre, and unofficially, the first official Male Witch or Warlock, whom Tiffany chose to take over Esme's steading for her, ever evicted said spiders from the scullery, neither having the heart to do so.

Speaking of spiders, Wilbert would need to speak with Sophie about keeping the spiders, Howl liked having them. Wilbert didn't mind spiders. His family home in the hills above Sheepridge, where he spent his first seven years living with his mother and father and his seven elder brothers and younger sisters, also house several spiders, so growing up with house spiders meant they didn't bother him much.

Presently the Castle shambled to the edge of the lake. It gave a shuddering stretch and lowered itself to the ground for a rest. The looser sections of the Castle skyline tipped and settled.

With the fine weather Sophie decided to hang the washing out. Markl help to carry out the basket. Turnip-Head joined them, Sophie persuaded him to be one end of the clotheslines, his enthusiasm gave Markl some grief as he struggled to hold his end as they strung to washing out.

And a little later in the early afternoon they brought a small table out to have lunch. Markl looked up at Turnip-Head stand atop a Castle battlement. He turned to Sophie as she poured the tea. "I think he likes doing the laundry," he put his stool down and grabbed a piece of bread and salami. Sophie agreed, "Looks like he'll have it dry in no time," she took her cup. Turnip-Head jumped down and hopped to the lakeside. Markl smiled. "A bet he's a demon, Calcifer doesn't seem to mind him at all."

"You're right," Sophie said looking at the scarecrow herself. "He probably is a demon," she turned back to the lake. "But he led me here, so maybe he's the good kind."

"No," Wilbert said joining them. He carried a chair, a lap writing desk and a carpet bag. "He's not a demon," he put his assortment down, sat in the chair and put the desk on his knees. "He's got some sort of spell on him, but I can't tell if it's a transfiguration or a life enchantment, he's mixed up and not all there, makes it hard to tell." From the carpet bag he pulled out a couple of files, then opened the lid of the desk and took out a pen. He started muttering to himself, "Now where was I with shadowing Lord Huguenot?"

Markl took another bite. "Is that something for Cable Street? How did you and Sal end up joining the Ankh-Morpork City Watch? I've heard Commander Vimes hates magic."

"Oh, he doesn't hate magic," Wilbert said writing a line. "He distrusts it, and for good reason, it's hard to control, to quote Mister Vimes, when you think you've got it by the throat it runs around and bites you in the backside."

Mister Vimes, Sophie thought. He's a Duke, a Knight, and Commander, and yet Wilbert calls him Mister. Although, her third thoughts added, Wilbert is pronouncing it fully, and in the same policeman's tone as 'Put that crossbow down, sir, and turn around slowly, mister.' It made her think.

Wilbert bolted the ink and lowered the desk to the ground. "It's a bit on a long story. It started at a job interview in the Patrician's Palace, before I was Vice-Chancellor, back in, oh, must have been thirteen years ago…"

* * *

Somethings are the same across the multiverse. The job interview is one of them. The candidate tries to look confident, competent and not sweat or twitch too much while sitting on the standard, and often uncomfortable chair, in front of a panel, if lucky only one, maybe two, but at the worst five, all of whom smile, sometimes with the look of a person only humouring you, or even with a small twinge of ill intent, while asking killer questions. Some universes, perhaps wisely, have banned them under the term cruel and unusual punishment.

Wilbert aged sixteen, sat in a wooden chair, which paradoxically to him felt quite comfortable, for the first few minutes anyway. Before him sat his interrogators. Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh and Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch sat in the centre, flanked by Captains Carrot Ironfounderson and Angua von Überwald, Inspector A.E. Pessimal on Captain Carrot's right taking notes and Inspector Donn Widget sitting to the left of von Überwald.

Carrot cheerfully gave the first of the killer questions. "So, why do you want the job?"

"Well," Wilbert said, trying to resist biting his lip. "The advertisement in the _Times_ just called out to me. I found the wording interesting. 'The Watch is looking for a different person. Someone who is willing to carry out special duties with potential for more than a regular policeman.' Even though there were no details of either, that got me interested."

Commander Vimes took a pull of his cigar. "Go on."

"Very well sir, when the letter arrived telling me the interview would be held in the Patrician's Palace instead of Pseudopolis Yards, as well as the initial secrecy even to begin with made me wonder what these 'special duties' were. I looked into the history of the Watch, and friends in Lancre," he smirked at Vimes' raised eyebrow, "told me of the reinstated Cable Street Particulars, an infamous group from the recent past of Ankh-Morpork, but rumour abounds about it today. I can only assume this more sensitive interview is for a suitable member for them?"

Inspector Widget nodded. "Quite correct." He cleared his throat. "I'm the one in charge of the Unmentionables, but I recently had a near fatal accident, the Igors and Leonard of Quirm did their best to rebuild me, but well, it's not quite the same. We need someone, preferably two who could handle some of my old duties."

Wilbert nodded. "I see," he glanced at his coat sleeve and chuckled. "There's another reason why I want to join the Watch."

Angua narrowed her eyes. "Is it something relating to your, strange outfit? You're going to need to wear something else on Particular duties."

"I'll keep that in mind," Wilbert said. "But yes, it does relate to the tartan of my coat," Captain Carrot leaned in closer. Then he blinked wide-eyed. "That's the Jumpylund Tartan!"

Angua and Vimes turned to him. The Captain sighed with a smile. "Something dwarfish Carrot?" he nodded. "The Jumpylund Clan are one of top families in Copperhead. They were Knockermen in one of the lesser mines, it went under a grove in the Lancre area."

Vimes snorted. "I guess the Jumpy referred to the blasts?" Carrot lowered his head and nodded. "The grove became sacred to both the Clan and the humans," he then returned to Wilbert. "But I've never known a human to wear the tartan, only Clan Members can."

Wilbert presented the palm of his right hand. A small scar ran at a right angle to the tip of his lifeline. "Me and Jumpy Jumpylund did a _Nuz'ku'kg_." Carrot's jaw dropped. Vimes took another puff from his cigar. "I know about Jumpy, Watchmen, but what's this Nuz stuff?" Carrot looked to the others. "The closest translation would be, outsider's blood oath." Vimes tilted his head. "I thought the dwarfish for outsider was _D'hrarak_?"

"No sir," Carrot explained " _D'hrarak_ refers to a dwarf who's been expelled from dwarfish culture. A _Nuz_ mean someone outside of your clan, and a blood oath is usually done between dwarfs of different clan, often warriors, but I've never heard it happen between a dwarf and a human," he turned to Wilbert and smiled. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Vimes cleared his throat. "Some other time Captain," he addressed Wilbert. "This might be for the Unmentionables, but before you can join them, and that's if you suitable, you have to start on the bottom, a lance-constable on the street. You up for it?"

"I think so sir."

"Right," Vimes took his cigar out of his mouth and looked to Widget. The Inspector nodded and gave Wilbert a sheet. "Read the instructions and if you think you can do what they say, you'll follow me." Wilbert read, and his eyes widened, his breaths turn fast a shallow.

The instructions ordered him to take a suspect and pulled a collar around their neck. Haven them face you with their heels touching a wall, preferably a fake and flexible wall, but without telling the suspect. Pull them forward and then push them back into the wall in a manner so the shoulder blades hit the wall, while the collar supports to the neck against whiplash. The suspect can rebound off the wall, which makes a loud noise. The theory suggests the noise will cause the suspect to think they are being harmed, when in fact no damage is being done.

Wilbert put the piece of paper down, not fully and it fell to the floor. He shook his head, his eyes trembled. "I'm sorry, I don't want to be involved in torture. If that's what's required in the Particulars, then I don't want to be a part of them."

Vimes nodded. "Very well, Mr Eldridge, we'll let you know. Angua show the man out and bring in the next candidate." Von Überwald nodded escorted Wilbert out into the corridor, she then brought Sal in.

Wilbert waited. After a few minutes he heard sobbing and shrieks. The door opened, and a trembling Sal raced out and into his arms. Wilbert comforted her. Angua and Carrot appeared at the door, Carrot examined the broken door handle and the loosened door hinges after Sal almost wrenched it out, while Angua walked up with a questioning stare. "Do you two know each other?" Wilbert nodded and removed his left-hand glove to show his engagement ring. Angua nodded.

* * *

Sophie narrowed her eyes. "If you didn't want to torture then why did they let you two in?"

"It was a test, if we were the type of people to torture we'd have been facing the Patrician, whether for punishment or recommendation Mister Vimes didn't say."

Markl raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you go under the name Eldridge?"

"Well, I couldn't risk being found out as a wizard, as Corporal Nobbs put it Mister Vimes would have gone spare. When I reunited with Jumpy I explained things and he knew to keep it quiet. It worked for a few weeks. Then we got called to a pub brawl, in the Café Ankh."

* * *

The Café Ankh advertised itself as an all-night bar to try and attract a better class of customer, but in Ankh-Morpork there is no real definition of better, as such a common visitor is Corporal Nobby Nobbs, who is in a class of his own, possibly an entire species of his own, most people think he's a human, as he has a signed document from the Patrician, with the additional verification from his mother and the midwife, confirming the Corporal's place in humanity, but where exactly no one knows.

How a riot between dwarfs and trolls start in such a place is anyone's guess.

Usual Watch procedure in the case of pub fights is to wait outside of the furthest throwing radius, pass out smokes and talk about what they will do at the next grandmother's funeral, then once giving the survivors ample time to vacate the premises the Watch would go in and arrest those too beaten or too drunk to resist arrest. But Vimes, having been so instrumental in the Koom Valley Accord and not wishing it to go to waste thanks to a bunch of drunken idiots who were yet to get the memo, decided to have to Watch do some prevention and enforcement.

Wilbert and Sal got thrown into the deep end and they needed to swim, but neither wanted to show how good at swimming they could be, especially with magical buoyancy aids.

In the ending moments fight two factions went at the Commander. A dwarf behind Vimes raised his axe and a werewolf suddenly appeared from behind some tables. Everything slowed. Wilbert looked to Sal, she nodded. The words flowed through him, out his mouth, they wrapped around the axe, then reshaped it. A pair of handcuffs slapped onto the dwarf's wrist.

Moments after, a fireball sailed past Vimes, as he turned around to meet the dwarf, and touched the fur of the werewolf. It howled in pain. The vampire pianist quickly changed into bat, grabbed the fire bucket and dossed the werewolf. Then another werewolf, thinner built and Wilbert noticed wearing a familiar collar, pouched on the first.

Vimes grinned and addressed the dwarf, "Planning to attack me, were you?" the dwarf meanwhile just stared at the cuffs. Vimes nodded. "I think we can safely assume you're nicked chum," he turned to Wilbert and Sal, who tried to look calm and nonchalant, it didn't work. "And you two will be seeing me in the morning."

* * *

Wilbert and Sal stood at the head desk in Pseudopolis Yards. Vimes at first didn't look up from the files Inspector Pessimal gave him. His eyes finally darted up, and he gave a look as if he just noticed them.

"Right," he straightened up in his chair. "Let's go through what happened last night. The Watch did preventative action against a bunch of old-school dwarfs and trolls, presumably they've heard about the peace between the two races, but they didn't want to sign up to it. Near the end a dwarf came close to killing me, and a werewolf, someone we kind of owe our lives to, so I'll drop the charges, was about to attack me. Until some weird words were spoken and the eye-witness accounts all say the axe turned into a pair of hand-cuff, and then a fireball hit the wolf. The witnesses also say, you Probationary Lance-Constable Eldridge said the word with your index and middle fingers pointed at the axe," he glanced to Sal, "And the fireball appeared close to your open palm Probationary Lance-Constable Lifton," Vimes moved his mouth around for a couple of seconds. "I myself ended up with a tinny smell up my noise, which the Archchancellor says is a side effect of close range exposure to magic. Coincidence?"

In unison Wilbert and Sal replied, "No sir."

"Thanks for the honesty here," His eyes narrowed. "But neither have told me the whole truth have you."

Again, "No sir," and Wilbert cleared his throat and he his face turned guilty. "We knew about your views on magic. But we needed a job, selling magic doesn't put bread on the table in the Sto Plains nowadays due to the increase of technology, and indeed technomancy. With Sal, she just omitted being a witch in training. As for me sir, my surname is not Eldridge, that's my middle name, my real surname is Weatherwax."

Vimes raised an eyebrow. "As is Archchancellor and Granny Weatherwax?"

"Well," Wilbert scratched the back of his ear. "Esmerelda is my distant cousin, but the late Archchancellor Galder Weatherwax was my Great-uncle." Vimes sighed, deeply and painfully, he turned to Inspector Pessimal, "A.E. I thought I ordered you to make a proper check on them?" the Inspector cleared his throat. "Not exactly sir, your words were, and I quote; The two seem familiar, and Eldridge is a clever…" he paused, and his lips struggled as he hummed disapproval. "A clever sod, see if he's not a spy for the Assassins' Guild, also, he's getting married to Lifton, find out if she's got connections to an assassin too," Inspector Pessimal took a breath, "Indeed I fulfilled the criteria given to me, as I told you after the interview, Mr Wilbert Eldridge Weatherwax has never been a member of the Assassins' Guild, student or otherwise, and Miss Sal Octavia Lifton has absolutely no connection to any assassin, student or otherwise."

Vimes narrowed his eyes and leaned back. "But they sound familiar."

Wilbert cleared his throat. "That's probably because we've been here in the yard before. The Hogswatch of 1987 University Calendar," Vimes looked at the cleaning, eyes straining in memories. "The only things of interest that night was an unexpected appearance of the real Hogfather at Crumley's, or so Nobby said. And then him and Washpot coming back with a little match-girl,"

Sal squeaked, then raised her hand. Vimes blinked. "That was you?" Sal nodded. Wilbert sighed. "Then some boy came to the front desk a day or two later, asking about her, yes?" Vimes nodded. "We thought you were her brother?" Wilbert shook his head. "We've been engaged since the day we were born, and before you say anything sir, yes, we were born on the same day," he arms started flaying. "Everyone assumed we had to meant each other," he quickly wrapped an arm around Sal. "And maybe we are, but on our own terms. Anyway, back to that Hogswatch, the Archchancellor came back from a meeting with Patrician regrading Sal. Lord Vetinari got interested in her believing some dark occult figure planned to use her. I claimed responsibility for her as her fiancé and would defend her, I had to explain to the faculty I was engaged to her before I became a wizard so they couldn't banish me for something our parents arranged and we were given certain conditions to allow us to be together, namely we be celibate till wed, and gods knows when that'll happen, the faculty are dragging their feet on that, we have no more than seven sons, and those sons all attend the University. I got her on the cleaning staff at the University too. Oh, the letters we got from home."

Vimes lit a cigar. "I can imagine. So, you're a registered Wizard at the University," he turned to Sal. "But what about you Lifton and being a witch?"

"Well, uh, sir," Sal rubbed arm, before remembering to stand to attention. "I'm still being trained, by, uh, Mrs Ah-widge,"

"You mean Mrs Earwig?" Vimes said, his cigar sparked slightly. "Tall, black lanced, wears more silver then you'd find in a cutlery draw?" Sal nodded. Vimes continued, "Pushy, full of herself and comes to Sybil's parties, not because she needs to, not like Vetinari, but because she wants to?" Sal bit her lip. "She's not a bad witch, incorrect yes, that's why I'm taking extra lessons from Mrs Cake, and Mistress Agnes Nitt," she squirmed slightly. "Please don't tell Mrs Ah-widge, I haven't got the heart to upset her."

Wilbert nodded. "She doesn't get her hands dirty, she thinks the stuff which makes a witch a witch has nothing to do with magic. I spent three years on a Bachelors, with Honours, on Thaumatology, that's the study of magic and miracles, I could tell her magic exists everywhere, in the everyday, the whole Disc his held together by magic. I've only just started a Doctorate on Wizardry, but even now I can tell, you don't need all that flash and bang to perform magic, you just need people to know you're a witch or a wizard,"

Vimes held up his hand. "Yeah, thank you Mr Weatherwax, we get the picture, I've spoken with Ridcully enough times." Wilbert lowered his head. "Sorry sir," Vimes groaned. "Just for the record, you don't have to call me sir, its Mister Vimes, you two earned last night."

Wilbert and Sal shared a glanced at each other and confusingly turned back to the Commander. Vimes took a breath without his cigar to compose himself. "I'm be plain with you two, I never wanted a wizard in the Watch. Never wanted them getting involved in city affairs. Witches I don't mind, but I'd still have wish not just encase."

Wilbert nodded. "There's thousands of good reasons why magic doesn't rule the world, they're called witches and wizard."

Vimes chuckled. "Nice that we agree there. But, Mustrum like the Watch, partly because Sybil puts on such large dinners, and partly because he recognises we've got a job to do, we make the world a better place,"

Sal squeaked. "That's, uh, what me and Wilbert, uh, think magic is meant for, make the world better," Wilbert nodded. "Benefiting all, it just depends on the how, and which method is best."

Vimes narrowed his eyes. "And if you two could stop interrupting me?" he paused as they went rigid. "I broke my rule of not using magic to solve Watch problems when we needed to get to Koom Valley fast, you want to say something Weatherwax?"

Sal nudged him, and Wilbert flinched. "Sorry Mister Vimes, I was just thinking back. I was part of the team that rigged those carriages."

"I see," the Commander took a long drag of his cigar. "I can't throw you two out of the Watch for using magic, since I broke the rule first, but I reassembled and modified it, no using magic to determine a guilty verdict," he paused and glanced at his left inside wrist. "You can only use magic for evidence gathering with my permission, using it to chase and nab a crook I'm absolutely fine with. Besides, if Sybil found out I sacked a couple of cops who saved my life she'd go librarian on me. Your job's safe," he took another puff. "But I'm going to talk with Mustrum and whoever's in charge of witches about this."

Sal raised her hand. "Uh, Mister Vimes," she blushed. "Witches don't have a proper leader, uh, per-se, but, uh, Granny Weatherwax is thought to be the most senior of senior witches," she bit her lip again. "Please don't tell Mrs Ah-widge I said that, maybe you should talk with her too."

Vimes nodded. "I get you," he put his cigar down and stood up tall. "But since you two are still on probation," he thumbed out the window. "I want you down on those streets and I don't want any funny business. Do I make myself clear?" the couple nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good, if you're going to use magic near me again, if you're able, tell me first. Carry on." The pair saluted, about turned and marched out, slightly off.

* * *

Wilbert finished his line on the report as well as his story, "Mister Vimes arranged that I be the Watch Liaison with Unseen University, and Sal with the witches. We've even made it to Detective-Sergeants," he sighed. "Then Sal took over Mad Stoat, and the Archchancellor named me Vice-Chancellor, that surprised everyone, even me, I always thought if any wizard was going to be Vice-Chancellor, it would have been Pounder Stibbons, but he does have more than enough titles already."

He and Sophie simply sat on the lake shore.

Markl came up beside her. "We got all the laundry put away Sophie," she turned and smiled at him. "Oh, thank you Markl. When your old all you want to do is stare at the scenery," she turned back to the lake. "It's so strange, I've never felt so peaceful before,"

Wilbert nodded. "It's the magic of the real world."

Soon the trio made their way back to the Castle. Markl went to the upstairs and brought down an old sofa and some rugs, which he put the arched space under the stairs. "You'd better sleep here tonight," he told Sophie.

"Does that mean Howl's going to let me stay?"

"I don't know!" Markl said irritably. "Howl never commits himself to anything. I was here six months before he seemed to notice I was living here and made me his apprentice. I just thought a bed would be better than the chair.", Sophie smiled gratefully. "Then thank you very much," the bed did feel more comfortable, and then Calcifer complained about going out Sophie easily creaked her way out and gave him more logs.

Wilbert stayed up further into the night waiting for Sal to return from Mad Stoat, no doubt she helped with the funeral.

After completing his report of Lord Huguenot, he started working on a spell.

The colour wheel changed to black and the door opened. Howl lumbered up the steps. Wilbert found himself repeating thoughts from long ago. If Professor Rincewind looked like a scarecrow…

Howl looked very, avian. Black feather covered his body, only a hint of his suit collar remained, his arms stretched past his belt line, and his feet dived into three talon toes. As the doors reset to Porthaven he slumped into the chair sitting before the hearth. He rested his feet in front Calcifer. The fire demon tried to be diplomatic, "You okay? I mean you smell terrible," the trouble is, demons don't have a sense of diplomacy.

Most wizard don't either. Wilbert looked at Howl from behind. "Your hairs got feathers now too," Howl panted, hissed and groaned, straining as he remained his shape. The feathers regressed and morphed back into his suit, his wings became is long coat sleeves. As his human form faded in he relaxed. Calcifer commented, "You shouldn't keep flying around like that. Soon you want be able to turn back into a human."

Wilbert nodded. It's something he lectured to new students, especially those excited about transfiguration. It held similar risks to the witchcraft of Borrowing, a technique of placing your mind within another animal's, not replacing its mind, nor are you controlling it, you are merely a passenger in the creature's head, observing the world through its eyes, accessing its memories and making thoughts to it, suggestion on what to do.

However, there is a big price. A body is like a jelly mould, the content forms to meet its shape. Spend too long in the animal's mind and you forget ever being separate. Too far gone, your mind evaporates, and you simply become a bunch of human thoughts in the animal's mind, and ones the animal tends to ignore.

Transfiguration spells work likewise, lose concentration, start thinking you are the animal you've turned your physical body into, your mind starts to become one of said animal. Then you're stuck, as say an orangutan, like the Librarian of Unseen University, with the occasional human thought and memories, but with the behaviour of, and a mind dominated by, orangutan thoughts, a vocabulary entirely consisting of different forms of "Ook" and the occasional "Eek", the minimum bribery level of one banana, and an automatically violent reaction to anyone who calls him a "monkey". Ape he's okay with.

From what Wilbert understood of the Royal Sorcery Academy it taught a curriculum which mixed both wizards' and witches' magic, a dangerous combination if misused.

Calcifer meanwhile grabbed a nearby log and dragged in onto his firebars. He crackled a smile. "Isn't this great? Sophie put theses here for me," Wilbert nodded. "I also told her about your preference for the spiders."

Howl didn't respond, he just lowered his feet to the ground and stated, "This war is terrible, they've bombed from the southern coast to the northern border, it's all in flames now,"

Wilbert sighed. "When Leonard of Quirm finds out he's going to be livid," Calcifer smouldered in agreement, "I can't stand the fire and gunpowder, those dopy guys have no manners,"

Howl then added something, "My own kind attack me today,"

"Who?" Calcifer asked, "The Witch of the Waste?" Howl shook his head. "No, some hack wizards who turn themselves into monsters for the King.", both Calcifer and Wilbert sighed, knowing. The fire demon commented, "Those wizards are going to regret doing that, they'll never change back into humans," Howl corrected him, "After the war they won't recall they ever were human."

"Hey?" Calcifer asked, "Aren't you supposed to report to the King too?", Howl said nothing, but Wilbert added, "I wouldn't be surprised if in the next day or two I get informed about an appointment at the Patrician's Palace, I imagine the Archchancellor, Lord Vetinari and Mister Vimes want someone to speak with the King, and well, since he listens to his Magical Advisors, I imagine they'd think he'd listen to the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University."

Howl groaned. "I'm tired," he stood up. "Make some hot water for my bath," Wilbert rolled his eyes and Calcifer fumed his protest, "What? Not again," Howl walked over to the curtained alcove. He pulled lifted the curtain away slightly. Sophie slept on a sofa, no old and creaking, young, smooth and beautiful in her simplicity, Howl resisted a smile, not quite ready. He dropped the curtain away and went upstairs, a thought occurred to him. Yes, he'd need to explain, but…

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **We weren't given much details about gnolls. They've only gotten minor appearance and not much development. In the early books their said to be a stone-goblin, a troll goblin perhaps? But they appeared to initial take the place of Orcs. I couldn't really see it, so instead I wanted to reference one of the possible inspirations for the later depictions of gnolls, as Wombles turned up to eleven. I know a more obvious reference is the Junk People from _Labyrinth_ , but I think that reference is a little too obvious.**

 **Wilbert and Sal's early days in the Watch is heavily inspired from the first chapter of writer A.A. Pessimal's (incomplete) story _Moving Pictures Part Two The Sequel_. I exchanged Victor Tugelbend for Wilbert and Sal. And instead of making André the head of the Particulars, I invented Donn Widget as a reference to _Inspector Gadget_.**

 **Spell Check is driving me nuts on the grammar of the Cable Street Particulars. It wants me to remove the word "Particulars" when it's next to a comma, including in this Author's Notes. It's a bit ridiculous if you ask me.**

 **I decided when inventing my own dwarfish terms to edit the Klingon translations of the words.**

 **The torture method asked of Wilbert is known as Walling and was used by the CIA.**

 **I'd recently stumbled across a playthrough of _Discworld Noir_ which is okay, nowhere as well crafted as any of the books. And they got characterisations wrong. Especially Commander Vimes. In my view the events of the game as lot more minor, not end of the world level, just a threat to the city like in _Moving Pictures_.**

 **I found the name Eldridge on a moment for a group of local boys killed in the First World War. The moment I saw it I knew I had to use it. It's sound so much like Eldritch it was an opportunity too good to miss.**

 **Minimum bride level is a line I remember from _Blackadder the Third_ I just thought to use it.**

 **Until next time.**


	6. Chapter 6

In the days following, Sophie cleaned her way remorselessly through the Castle, oddly she enjoyed it, she vented her frustration into the grime. Telling herself she could look for clues.

The morning of Sophie's second day, Howl came out of the bathroom in a waft of steamy perfume. He looked marvellously spruce. The silver inlets and embroidery on his blue suit looked brighter than polish could achieve. He crossed the room and picked the harp up. Markl took hold of Howl by a sleeve and took him aside, where Sophie heard him pour out his complaints in a passionate mutter, even though yesterday they go on well doing the laundry, Markl it seemed still didn't like Sophie cleaning the Castle, Sophie could hear them easily even over Calcifer's roaring, "Howl, stop her! She's killing us both!"

But Howl said nothing, except, when Markl let go of him, "Did you kill any spiders?"

"Of course not!" Sophie curmudgeonly. Her aches made her irritable. "They look at me and run for their lives. What are they? All the girls whose hearts you ate?"

Howl laughed. "No, just simple spiders," he opened the door to Mad Stoat.

"When will you be back, Master Howl?" Markl asked a little despairingly. Howl pretended not to hear. He said to Sophie, "You're not to kill a single spider while I'm away." And the door slammed behind him. Markl looked at Calcifer and sighed. Calcifer cracked with malicious laughter. Since nobody explained where Howl went other than somewhere in Lancre, Sophie concluded he went off hunting young girls again, she got down to work with more righteous vigour than ever. She did not dare harm spiders after what Howl said. She banged at the beams with the broom, screaming, "Out, spiders! Out of my way!" spiders scrambled for their lives every which way, and webs fell in swathes. Then of course she needed to sweep the floor yet again.

She washed the windows, using old newspaper, she chose the _Ankh-Morpork Inquirer_ , the down market and struggling rival to the _Times_. She took vinegar and water to soak the sheets and whip the stains on the glass. Wilbert joked, "That's probably the most useful the _Inquirer_ has ever been."

Sophie cleaned the oozing sink, and she made Markl, Wilbert and Sal when available to clear everything off the workbench and the shelves so she could scrub them. She took out everything from the cupboards and down from the beams and cleaned those too. The human skull, she fancied, began to look as long-suffering as Markl as she moved it so often.

"I wish you'd stop!" Markl said, sitting on the stairs out of her way.

Calcifer, cowering at the back of the grate, muttered, "I wish I'd never made that bargain with you now!"

Sophie scrubbed on vigorously. "You'll be much happier when it's all nice and clean."

"But I'm miserable now!" Markl protested.

Then Sophie tacked an old sheet to the beams nearest the fireplace and forced Calcifer to bend his head down while she swept the chimney. Calcifer hated it. He crackled with mean laughter when Sophie discovered the soot got all over the room and she needed to clean it all again. Sophie lacked method, although she did have a reason for it: she calculated she could not clean this thoroughly without sooner or later coming across Howl's hidden hoard of girls' souls, or chewed hearts or else, something to explain the contract between Howl and Calcifer. Up the chimney, guarded by Calcifer, stuck her as a good hiding place. But she found nothing there expect quantities of soot, which Sophie left for Samothrip the gnoll to collect.

Every time Howl came in, Markl and Calcifer complained loudly about Sophie. But Howl did not seem to attend. Nor did he seem to notice the cleanliness, nor the well-stocked food closet with cakes and jam and the occasional cabbage from the Sto Plains.

Markl's comment about Sophie being a witch, and what she said to the little girl the other day turned out to be quite prophetic, word got around Porthaven. People came to the door to look at Sophie. They called her Mrs Witch. Word seemed to get out in Kingsbury too, though people who came to the Kingsbury door would dressed better than in Porthaven, no on in either place liked to call on a witch without an excuse.

Sal gave Sophie some advice, and Sophie followed it, she paused in her work to nod and smile, bow because witches are too proud to curtsy, and take in a gift, or to get Markl, as Sal and Wilbert would hide upstairs from the people of Ingary, to put up a quick spell for someone. Witches in the Ramtops don't tend to accept money for their services, however they will take things of use, old clothes, empty bottles, tools for housework, or maybe a little help about the cottage. Some of the gifts consisted of simple pictures and strings of shells, but also useful aprons. Sophie used the aprons daily and hung the shells and pictures around her cubbyhole under the stairs, which soon began to look very homelike indeed.

Sophie knew she would miss this when Howl turned her out. She became more and more he would, she knew he could not go on ignoring her forever.

She cleaned the bathroom next. It took her days because Howl spent so long in it every day before he went out. As soon as he went, leaving it full of steam and scented spells, Sophie moved in. "Now we'll see about that contract," she muttered at the bath, but her main target would of course, be the shelf of packets, jars and tubes. She took everyone od them down, on the pretext of scrubbing the shelf, and spent most of a day carefully going through them to see if the ones labelled: SKIN, EYES and HAIR, consisted of pieces of girls. As far as she could tell, only creams and powders and paint. If they once used to be girls, then Sophie thought Howl must use the tube FOR DECAY on them and rotted them down the washbasin too thoroughly to recall. But she hoped they were only cosmetics in the packets.

She put the things back on the shelf and scrubbed.

When night fell she sat aching in the chair, Sal treated her to a light shoulder massage. Calcifer grumbled about how he drained one hot spring dry for her.

"Where are the hot springs?" Sophie asked. She became curious everything these days.

"Under the Porthaven Marshes mostly," Calcifer said. "But if you go on like this, I'll have to fetch hot water from the Waste. When are you going to stop cleaning and find out how to break my contract?"

"In good time," said Sophie. "How can I get terms out of Howl if he's never in? Is he always away this much?"

"Only when he's after a lady," Calcifer said.

When she got the bathroom clean and gleaming, Sophie scrubbed the stairs and the landing upstairs. Then she moved on into the other's rooms. Markl, who by this time started to accept Sophie gloomily as a sort of natural disaster, gave a yell of dismay and pounded upstairs to rescue his most treasured possessions. Again, Sophie noticed the old box, still full of young innocent love letters. Considering how nosy she became lately, Sophie surprised herself for not asking Markl who he fancied and how he kept her safe from Howl.

She swept such quantities of dust and rubbish from Markl's room, plus the bits here and there from Sal and Wilbert's room and workspace, which to Sophie's joy they kept clean by themselves. It all nearly swamped Samothrip, but he managed to rope in a Golem working for Harry King. Sophie never saw a Golem before, she knew of this ancient mechanical race, which somehow learned to become autonomous. Big and dark red, it looked like a child's clay model of a man, with burning eyes. The stuff they amazingly could not accept Sophie gave to Calcifer, and nearly swamped him too trying to burn it all up.

"You'll be the death of me!" Calcifer choked. "You're as heartless as Howl!"

Markl put his precious box in the drawer of the workbench and locked it. "I wish Master Howl would listen to us. Why is this girl taking him so long?"

Next day, Sophie put her apron over her head, she found a bucket of whitewash and a large paintbrush and she set to work on the walls. She found an old stepladder in the broom cupboard and she whitewashed the ceiling between the beams too.

When Howl came in on the third day Sophie whitewashed her cubbyhole, the stairs, the landing and Markl's room.

Wilbert and Sal properly painted their room walls, all the rooms they used, with fine paints. Wilbert kept his workroom clean, if unity as to resemble the aftermath of a fight between a Renaissance Man and a mad glassblower within a blacksmith's foundry, with a stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling, Wilbert said no one, least of all wizards, know why, just compulsory. Another interesting thing Sophie noted within the engaged couple's bedroom, they placed a board across the middle of their double bed. Sophie heard about the tradition of Bundling, a method of getting a young couple to sleep in the same bed without any, she suppressed her blush, how could someone so old still feel so awkward when thinking of such, things.

"What's happened in here?" Howl said as he shut the door. "It seems much lighter."

"Sophie," Markl said in a voice of doom.

"I should have guessed," Howl said as he disappeared upstairs into the bathroom.

Markl whispered to Calcifer, "He noticed! The girl must be giving in at last!"

The day following this, Sophie collected her besom, bucket and soap, and as soon as Howl left by the front door, she set off like an elderly avenging angel to clean Howl's bedroom. She never yet dared to peep in. A silly idea, she thought as she hobbled up the stairs. By now it became clear to her Calcifer did all the strong magic in the Castle, and Markl, Sal and Wilbert did all the hackwork, while Howl gadded off catching girls and exploiting the others just like Fanny exploited her. Now Sophie didn't find Howl particularly frightening. Now she felt nothing but contempt.

She arrived on the landing and found Howl standing in the doorway of his bedroom, he leaned lazily on one hand, completely blocking her way. "No, you don't," he said quite pleasantly, a common method of intimidation. "I want it dirty and cluttered, thank you."

Sophie gaped at him. "Where did you come from? I saw you go out."

"I meant you to," said Howl. "You've done your worst with Calcifer and poor Markl. And Wilbert and Sal always sorted themselves out. It stood to reason you'd descend on me today. And whatever Calcifer told you, I am a wizard, you know. Didn't you think I could do magic?"

Sophie did know he could do magic, she saw him, and in fact took part in it. But right now, she would have rather died than admit it. "Everyone knows you're a wizard, young man,"

Wilbert came down from the upper floor. "Like how everyone knows you're a witch Sophie," he continued down before Sophie could reply. She turned back to Howl. "But that doesn't alter the fact that your Castle is the dirtiest place I've ever been in." She peered into the room past Howl's dangling sleeves. The floor looked as littered as a bird's nest, a magpie's most likely due to all the shiny trinkets. She glimpsed peeling walls and a shelf full of books, some of them very queer looking. No pile of gnawed hearts, but those could probably be behind or under the huge four-poster bed. Its hangings a grey-white with dust and they prevented her from seeing what the window looked out on to.

Howl swing his sleeves in front of her face. "Uh-uh. Don't be nosy."

"I'm not being nosy," Sophie protested. "That room…!"

"Yes," Howl interjected. "You are nosy. You're a dreadfully, nosy, horribly bossy, appallingly clean old woman. Control yourself. You're victimising us all."

"But it's a pigsty," said Sophie. "I can't help what I am!"

"Yes, you can," said Howl. "And I like my room the way it is. You must admit I have a right to live in a pigsty if I want. Now go downstairs and think of something else to do. Please. I hate quarrelling with people."

With nothing she could do, Sophie hobbled away with her bucket clanking by her side. A little shaken, and very surprised Howl did not throw out of the Castle right there on the spot. But since he didn't he didn't she thought about what to do instead. Howl's words stung her, so she turned back to him. "You don't like anything unpleasant, do you?" she retorted. "You're a slither-outer, that's you are! You slither away from anything you don't like!"

Howl gave a forced sort of smile. "Well now," he said. "Now we both know each other's faults. Go on." He advanced towards he bathroom. The waving sleeve of his coat caught on edge of a protruding nail from a side beam and tore. "Damnation!" said Howl, holding up the trailing ends. "Look what you've made me do!"

What I did? Sophie's second thoughts wanted to say. Her more immediate thought beat it to be spoken. "I can mend it,"

Howl gave her a glassy look. "There you go again," he said. "How you must love servitude!" He took his torn sleeve gently between the figures of his right hand and pulled it through him. As the fabric left his fingers, no tear remained in it at all. "There," he said. "Understand?"

Sophie hobbled back indoors rather chastened. Wizards clearly did not work in the ordinary way. "Why didn't he turn me out?" she said, half to herself and half to the others. Markl shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "But I think he goes by Calcifer. Most people who come in here either don't notice Calcifer or they're scared stiff of him."

Sal put her hand to Sophie's. "Well, if you've got nothing to do today," she glanced back at the door. "I, uh, have a Coven meeting today,"

"A coven?" Sophie blinked. "You mean the dancing at moonlight, blood and…" Sal shook her head vigorously, and surprisingly her hair curtain bang did not fall out of shape. "Oh no, it's not like that, it's just a meeting to discuss things going on at the steadings, very informal, and nothing ritual. I mean Nanny Ogg and Mr Geoffrey would never do any of that,"

"Mr Geoffrey?"

"Oh, yes, he, uh, is the, Calm Weaver, but the local of his steading call him, the, Warlock of Bad Ass," Sophie tried to cover Markl's ears. "Bad what?" Sal nodded. "I know, Bad Ass, yes, something about a stubborn donkey, it's not cursing if you're talking about donkeys. The people of Lancre are not ones for senseless niceties, and they have a sideway approach to names. Anyway, Bass Ass used to be Granny Weatherwax's steading, Nanny Ogg is the Witch of Lancre Town, and me the Research Witch of Mad Stoat,"

"A Research Witch?" Sophie asked. Sal smiled and explained. Someone must do it. It is all very well calling for eye of newt, but do you mean Common, Spotted or Great Crested? Which eye? Will tapioca or a stock cube do just as well? If we substitute egg white instead will the spell a) work b) fail c) melt the bottom out of the cauldron or d) produce a reaction yet unthought of? Research Witches tend to be better doctors than Edge Witches who play by ear.

Edge Witches guard and monitor anything where there exist boundaries. Life and death, light and dark, good and evil, today and tomorrow, this world and the next. The list is almost endless.

"Nanny Ogg is a very old edge witch, which means she's very good at it." Sal finished. "Mr Geoffrey is getting good at it too, just like Granny Weatherwax was,"

A good example of the difference between how a Research Witch and an Edge Witch operates is one instant in the apprenticeship of Tiffany Aching. One of her tutors, Miss Level carefully explained to one family, several times, they dug their well too close to the outside privy, so the water got filled with creatures too small to see with the naked eye, and they made the children sick. The family listen politely but did nothing. Then Granny Weatherwax came and told them the smell of the privy attracted goblins, and they messed with the well what with it being so close by. When Mistress Weatherwax left the man of the house and three of his friends already began digging a new well at the other end of the garden.

Sophie huffed. "If I was them I wouldn't have dug the well near the privy to begin with. And goblins aren't like that."

Sal nodded. "Yes, but they're not you. Anyway, the reason Granny Weatherwax told them that, is because it would be something they understood back then, nowadays you'd probably need to say gremlins, and I wonder how long it is before they appear and turn out to be quite civilised. She also made sure a couple of wandering teachers came to the village, so the locals would understand in the future,"

Sophie looked around the clean room and sighed. "All right," she said. "As long as nothing bad happens," Sal nodded and went to get her broomstick.

When Sophie took her first look at it she noticed one thing right at the start. It looked nothing like Wilbert's broomstick. Wilbert's looked silique and smooth, made by the best craftsmen. Sal's looked a bit rough. The Research Witch noticed. "Oh, uh, I made my broomstick myself, Wilbert's Thunderstroke was a present from his uncle Guillaume Eldridge, of Eldridge, Pin and Tulip, the best human flying broomstick makers. Mr Eldridge and the dwarfs up in Copperhead taught me the craft of flying broomstick, I'm, uh making a new one in my cottage, when I have the time."

When the two walked outside Sal went inside via the backdoor into the cottage itself. Sophie hobbled around and found a notice nailed to it saying,

If unanswered here, please knock at front door.

When Sophie asked why anyone would not use the front door Sal explained.

Witches being servants to their communities used the "servants entrance" and traditional Ramtoppers only used their front door for special occasions, and generally only three. Once as a baby, again as part of the newly-wed tradition and final inside a coffin. And the tradition became something most of Lancre expected. Sal explained having been raised in Sheepridge, and Ankh-Morpork she always used the front door, but the people of Lancre tended to hang to this harmless tradition.

The flight, while smooth, felt a little uncomfortable for Sophie, having to sit on the bristle, unlike Sal, she rode leg astride. She imagined her first flight would have been more awe inspiring, but maybe in her old age she just felt as if she's seen everything. As they flew Sal talked about Granny Weatherwax and her problems flying.

Granny got introduced to broomstick flying quite late in life, and after some initial suspicion took to it like a bluebottle to an ancient fish-head. A problem, however, arose as Granny saw every flight simply as a straight line from A to B and comply with the idea other users of the air might have any rights whatsoever; the flight migration patterns of an entire continent changed because of this simple fact. High-speed evolution among local birds developed a generation which flew on their backs, to keep a watchful eye on the skies. Granny's implicit belief about how everything should get out of her way extended to other witches, very tall trees and, on occasion, mountains.

When the clacks semaphore towers arrived an anonymous witch from Lancre succeeded in bringing the clacks line down by riding her broomstick into one of the towers, damaging its sensitive mechanisms and terrifying the luckless crew.

As well as this, the broomstick she flew on came with its own problems. Old and temperamental, repaired so often little of the original broom remains, and despite the best and continued efforts of the dwarfs servicing her broomstick it often requires the user to pick up speed by running along the ground. Apparently, she never paid the dwarfs either, although their efforts were later described by a pair of dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork who specialised in broomsticks as a bodge job.

Only when Geoffrey Swivel inherited the broom did it receive a proper service and a complete overhaul, much like those nine-hundred-year-old family axes, ending up with a new handle and new bristles.

Sal looked back at Sophie. "Well?" she asked, "Aren't you going to ask about how can be the same broom?"

"I'd rather ask you to watch where you're flying!" Sophie snapped. "And I know about this philosophical paradox. The Ship of Lavaelous. But Mrs Conran taught me the bit no one really remembers,"

The hero Lavaelous, who is regarded as a great historical figure, but not a Hero with a capital H, led the army of Ephebe into Tsort to rescue Elenor of Tsort, or of Crinix or of Elharib, it got lost in the details. He led by cunning, by, as most people believe, constructing a giant wooden horse for the army to hid in, which got pulled into the enemy city, whichever it happened to be, where they waited until nightfall before attacking the city. In fact, the horse served as a decoy while the army went around the back, and someone helpfully opened the gate for them. Lavaelous as well did not storm the palace but, after a disguised night scouting and drinking, leaned about the secret cleaner's tunnels.

After rescuing Elenor, who apparently actually liked Tsort after a while, Lavaelous left by boat, but thanks to the gods punishing him for his trickery and the machinations of temptresses, sirens and sensual witches, presumably not Sal's kind of witch, he kept getting lost, and spent ten years travelling a route supposed to be only two-hundred miles.

Sal suggested the alternative of Enchantress, they tend to wear less than the average witch and are flashier, in more ways than one.

When Sophie got over the imagery she continued. Lavaelous and his crew replaced all the piece of their boat, the Deka-Naught, about eight times. Their poet, philosopher and storyteller, Morphine asked whether the ship could still be the Deka-Naught. To which Lavaelous replied, "I'm the captain of this ship, I name this the Deka-Naught therefore it is. It's what everyone else is going to call it, might as well beat them to it."

The two women touched down on the crest of a moor. In the distant, roughly equally spaced in a circumference Sophie saw three villages, she turned away from Mad Stoat. The next sat near a bridge and a castle, presumably the capital of Lancre, Lancre Town, and by deduction, the third, a mountain village tucked in a narrow valley between steep woods. Not a large village either, so it wouldn't appear on a map of the mountain range, indeed it would barely show up on a map of the village itself, must be Bad Ass.

About in the centre of the moor sat a cauldron. And two other figures stood hunched over it. The short, dumpy woman, with a face like a friendly raisin and a pipe, who warmed her hands at the fire, looked up and smiled. "Whatcha Sal!" she said jovially.

Sal gave a giggling sigh. "Hello Nanny," she turned to the other figure "Good afternoon Geoffrey."

While Sal put her broomstick beside two other, Sophie examined the young man. Tall, athletically built, and dressed in fine, but working clothes, like a gentleman farmer. He looked the type of person Howl tried to be. He nodded. "Miss Lifton," his accent denoted one of refinement from the Shires, the area of land outside and turnwise of the major city states of the Sto Plains. Sophie's late Father wanted to push into the market of the Shire gentry, but never managed. The man then turned to Sophie. His head tilted and have a pleasant, if bemused smile. "And may I ask who your guest is? You're not trying to replace me?"

Sal giggled. "No Geoffrey," she cleared her throat. "Sophie, this is Gytha "Nanny" Ogg, and Mr Geoffrey Swivel, Royal Ambassador of Lancre," she then addressed the two of the coven, Sophie noted Mr Swivel's slightly pained expression at being called Royal Ambassador, "Nanny, Geoffrey, this is Sophie, she the new cleaning lady at Howl's Castle."

Nanny Ogg started chuckled. "Is she now?" as she continued in her mirth Mr Swivel looked at her curiously. "Have you been in an argument recently Miss Sophie?"

Sophie flustered. "Well, I, I," she tried to suppress her blush of embarrassment. "I got into an argument with Howl about cleaning his bedroom," this made Nanny chuckled little more. Mr Swivel meanwhile narrowed his gaze. "There's more, you feel your being used, yes?" Sophie whimpered.

Sal approached. "Geoffrey please, I don't think Sophie wants to dump all her problem on us, she's just because she's got nothing else to do. She's finished cleaning the Castle for the week."

Nanny called over, "Hurry up with the tea luv, I'm parched." Sal took a teapot from beside the cauldron and ladled the boiling water into it. "While it brews, perhaps we should discuss what's been going on recently, Nanny?"

As they started to discuss witch business Sophie examined the broomsticks. One floated at mounting height all by itself, and like Wilbert's its handle included an indentation. Sophie rolled her eyes. If this truly was a sane and rational world, Sophie thought. Then men would ride side-saddle. But, she added, those dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork must have been skilled to make a broomstick infamous for it terribleness at flying from a standstill, to a broom which floated without its owners input. The one Sophie concluded to be Mrs Ogg's looked thickly built and bent upwards, presumably to carry Mrs Ogg about comfortably.

A hand came to Sophie's shoulder. Sal asked her, "Do you want a cup of tea Sophie?"

"Oh, yes please Sal,"

Mrs Ogg called over, "Don't such a stranger Sophie, come over and have a chinwag with us," Sophie hobbled over and looked between the three of them, as Mrs Ogg poured and handed her a cup. "I am wrong to ask about the roles in this coven? I call tell Sal is the Maiden, and I assume, no offense Mrs Ogg, that you're the Crone, but Mr Swivel?" And the idea of Mrs Ogg being a Crone didn't really fit either, after running the hat shop Sophie knew her type, the women could find an innuendo in anything, even a simple Good Morning.

"Oh, no Sophie," Mrs Ogg said. "I'm the Mother, fifteen of me own, lost count how many grandkids, and I never even tried to count me great-grandkids, had about seventy-five family members when the Century of the Fruit Bat came to an end. And that's not including all the ones I midwifed for, I've even done troll babes,"

Mr Swivel nodded. "As hard as it may seem to imagine, I fit the Crone," Sophie opened her mouth, but Mrs Ogg answered, "It ain't down to technicalities," she drew out her pronunciation of technicalities, she'd probably have problem pronouncing pronunciation. "Always reckoned I was never a Maiden mentally, even before me first fling,"

"Don't you mean you first marriage?" Sophie asked. Mrs Ogg just chuckled. "I've had three husbands of me own, not to mention other friends," she smiled to herself and sighed. "Now, Agnes, who handle Mad Stoat before Sal, is a Maiden, her aunt May in Creel Spring too, she's had four kids but she's still bashful around men, tell her a saucy joke and you could fry an egg on her cheeks," she paused and looked at Sophie, then she chuckled. "I bet we could do the same with you."

Mr Swivel nodded. "Mistress Aching too. She's actually quite young, but she has the mindset of a Crone, and having worked with her before taking over the steading and," he gritted his teeth. "Fighting against the Elves," the trio paused and looked around. Mr Swivel's eyes darted around fast before returning to Sophie. "I've seen a few of the Old Boys of Bass Ass pass on, I've been with them, I accept what happened, but I know things can be better," Mrs Ogg nodded. "Esme thought the same way, and I know she left the world a better place than when she started,"

Geoffrey continued, "And Mistress Aching and I are making sure that legacy doesn't go to waste. I never met Mistress Weatherwax, but I knew of her and I respect her. I know the world can be a terrible place," he shut his eyes and he took a breath. "I am sorry, some childhood memories."

Sophie nodded.

Sal looked to the falling sun and cleared her throat. "Well, then, uh," she turned to Sophie. "Please don't getting shocked by this," she took a breath, as she exhaled she gave a shrieking eldritch style laugh, "When shall we three met again?"

Above them in the mountains thunder rolled. Nanny Ogg smiled and looked back to her. "Very nicely done Sal," Sal blushed. "Thank you, Nanny. I'll try to be here a week today?"

"Oh no," Mrs Ogg said. "I'm taking care of our Shawn's younger all next week. Difficult kid our Tommy, I think he'll grow up to be a wizard and his magic's leaking out, bit like young Esme."

Sophie tilted her head. "Young Esme?"

Sal answered, "Princess Esmerelda Margaret Note Spelling,"

"Note Spelling?" Sal nodded. "The priest, Mightily Oats, got nervous at the naming, Nanny made him nervous,"

"Never really one for organised religion, just plain old superstition suits me," Nanny said, rifling in her, underclothes, and pulled out a drinks flask, she took a long swig. "Still, he turned out right in the end, hear he's doing great in Überwald." She pronounced the name as written.

Sal nodded. "He saved and helped educate an orc, Mr Nutt, he makes the candle and coaches the football team at Unseen University.", she turned back to Sophie. "See, Queen Magrat got her name because her mother couldn't spell correctly, she tried to prevent such a mistake by putting 'Note Spelling' on the paper she gave Pastor Oats, but he read it out in full by mistake, and local custom dictates once the full name is heard, it stays. Wilbert suggested something that might work when she's Queen.", she turned to Mr Swivel. "What about you Geoffrey?"

"Well," Mr Swivel turned a little awkward, and tapped the toecap of his shoe on the ground. "I'm afraid I'll be away most of the coming week as well," Mrs Ogg turned to him. "Verence sending you on a diplomatic mission then?" like before Mrs Ogg went carefully saying diplomatic.

"Yes," Mr Swivel said. "The King's ordered me to, try and convince the King of Ingary to stop this war. He says we don't want a situation like in Borogravia," he then looked to Sal. "And I will make my own way there, thank you. It would look suspicious for the Royal Ambassador of Lancre to step out of a house in Kingsbury."

Sophie grumbled. She didn't really want to think about this war.

Sal nodded and cleared her throat. "Then friends. Let the spirits guide and protect us.", Sophie looked a little confused. Mrs Ogg put an arm around her. "Well," she whispered. "We had to let her do one or two things Mrs Earwig taught her."

* * *

 **Bad Ass, it's not cursing if your talking about donkeys. Thank you, John Green.**

 **I knew I wanted to include Nanny Ogg, and quite like Geoffrey Swivel.**

 **Eldridge, Pin and Tulip. Yes, I know the fate of the New Firm from** ** _The Truth_** **but with what that established with reincarnation you never know. Besides it could just be one big coincidence. I imagine this firm of broomstick makers are like the early Rolls-Royce. Royce was the engineer and designer while Rolls handled the business side. Eldridge is the engineer, Tulip the designer, together they make the broomstick both functional and aesthetically pleasing while Pin manages the business side of the company. The names of the Thunderstroke and the manufacturing company is a** ** _Harry Potter_** **reference.**

 **I knew had to make a reference to the Ship of Theseus paradox, and connect it to the Trigger's broom paradox variation. I tried to channel Pratchett when deconstruction the paradox, he did do it** ** _The Fifth Elephant_** **, but I wanted to go a bit further. And since Lavaelous is a smart chap he would be able to thing around it.**

 **So long for now.**


	7. Chapter 7

The load rush of running water woke Sophie up with a start. It went on so much the alcove shook. She quickly did her messy hair as she stared at the top of the arch in the weird way people do when they hear a muffled sound and then look at the ceiling thinking the noise originated in the same room as they are in. Once in the general shape of a tail she parted the current and watch as Calcifer grabbed a log. "Is Howl back?"

"Yes," grumbled the fire demon. "He's wasting all my hot water again," he bit into the wood. "At least you're putting the water to good use."

Sophie gave a sad smile. She then looked around the room. As much as Howl deserved it, she took out her feelings on the Castle when she got angry with the Witch of the Waste. And she did feel a little upset at the thought of being here on false pretences, and how the others needed to keep quiet about it in front of Howl. Howl might think Calcifer liked her, but Sophie knew Calcifer simply seized on the chance to make a bargain with her. Sophie thought she let Calcifer down.

This state of mind did not last. Sophie discovered a pile of Markl's clothes needing mending. She fetched out thimble, scissors and thread from her sewing pocket, she kept her essential supplies with her and she didn't believe in the fashion of handbags. And set to work. By the late morning she turned cheerful.

Wilbert didn't seem to be about, and Sophie presumed Sal to be somewhere in Mad Stoat.

The almost ritual of Howl's bath time continued. Clearly Howl did not yet catch the girl he went after. Sophie over the last few days listened to Markl asking rather obvious questions about it, and Howl slithering neatly out of answering them. "He is a slither-out," Sophie murmured to a pair of Markl's socks. "Can't face his own wickedness."

As Markl went about learning by doing whatever spell Howl gave him, Sophie realised she could learn a lot too. In dawned on her if Martha could learn to maintain a spell to swap herself and Lettie, then she ought to be able to do the same. With a bit of luck, there might be no need to rely on Calcifer.

Markl left for a break outside in Porthaven. Sophie creaked to her feet and hobbled to the bench. The spell looked clear enough, but Howl's scrawled remarks defeated her. "I've never seen such writing!" she grumbled to the human skull. "Does he use a pen or a poker?" She sorted eagerly through every scrap of paper on the bench and examined the powders and liquids in the crooked jars. "Yes, let's admit it," she told the skull. "I snoop. And I have my proper reward. I can find out how to cure fowl pest and abate whooping cough, raise a wind and removed hairs from the face. If Martha found this lot, she'd still be at Mistress Aching's."

Sophie found in the pile of clothes, a grey and scarlet suit, as fancy as any others of Howl.

Another burst of the taps caught both her and Calcifer's attention. The fire demon grumbled again, "His feet itch!" low among his logs, moving uneasily this way and the other to avoid the occasional drip in the chimney. "The pumping's not built to handle so much use. How does he think I feel, stuck in a damp grate like this?"

"Then," Sophie said, shaking out the grey and scarlet suit. "You'll have to give me a hint at least about how to break your contract," she examined the suit. "Goodness, you're a fine suit, even if you are a bit worn! Built to pull in the girls, aren't you?"

"I have given you a hint!" Calcifer fizzed.

"Then you'll have to give it to me again. I didn't catch it," said as she laid the suit down and hobbled to the door.

"If I give you a hint, and tell you it's a hint, it will be information, and I'm not allowed to give that," Calcifer said. "Where are you going?"

"To do something I didn't dare do until the others were indisposed," she twisted the knob over until the black came, it looked about ready to slip away when Sophie said. "You're not going to deny an old woman, are you?" the door seemed to think and decide to let her through. The she opened the door.

Nothing. Not even black, nor grey, nor white, just a lack of anything. Not thick, or transparent. I did not move. No smell or feel. When Sophie put a cautious finger out into it, it felt neither hot or cold. It felt of mothing. It seemed utterly and completely nothing.

"What is this?" she asked Calcifer.

The fire demon looked as interested as Sophie. He leaned right out of the grate to see the door. "I don't know," he whispered. "I only maintain it. All I know is that it's on the side of the Castle that no one can walk around. It feels quite far away."

"It feels beyond the moon!" said Sophie. She shut the door turned the blue knob.

As she walked back up the stairs the door opened and Markl walked in. He looked around the room. "Oh, no!" he said. "Not the lady friend again! I thought she'd fallen in love with him and it was all over days ago. What's keeping her?"

Calcifer fizzed wickedly. "You got the signs wrong. Heartless Howl is finding this lady rather tough. He decided to leave her alone a few days to see if that would help. That's all."

"Bother!" said Markl. "That's bound to mean trouble. And here was I hoping Howl was almost sensible again!"

Sophie banged the suit down on her knees. "Really!" she said. "How can you both talk like that about such utter wickedness! At least, I suppose I can't blame Calcifer, since he's and evil demon. But you, Markl…"

"I don't think I'm evil," Calcifer protested.

"But I'm not calm about it if that's what you think!" Markl said. "If you knew the trouble we've had because Howl will keep falling in love like this! We've had lawsuits, and suitors with swords, and mothers with rolling pins, and fathers and uncles with cudgels. And aunts. Aunts are terrible. They go for you with hatpins. But the worst in when the girl herself find out where Howl lives and turns up at the door, crying and miserable. Howl goes up into his room and Calcifer and I have to deal with them all."

"I hate the unhappy ones," Calcifer said. "They drip on me. I'd rather have them angry."

"Now let's get this straight," Sophie said, clenching her fists in the red satin. "What does Howl do to these poor females? I was told he ate their hearts."

Markl laughed uncomfortably. "Then you must come from Market Chipping. Howl sent me down there to blacken his name when we first set up the castle. I," he stammered. "I said that sort of thing. It's what the usually say. It's only true in a manner of speaking."

"Howl's very fickle," said Calcifer. "He's only interested until the girl falls in love with him. Then he can't be bothered with her."

"But he can't rest until he's made her love him," Markl said eagerly. "You can't get any sense out of him until he has. I always look forward to the time when the girl falls for him. Things get better then."

"Until they track him down," said Calcifer.

"You'd think he'd have the sense to give them a false name," Sophie said scornfully. The scorn hid the fact she felt somewhat foolish.

"Oh," Markl nodded. "He always does. He loves giving false names and posing as things. He does it even when he's not courting girls. Haven't you noticed he's the Great Wizard Jenkins in Porthaven, and the Great Wizard Pendragon in Kingsbury, as well as simply the Wizard Howl wherever the Castle is?"

Sophie forgot about those other names, which made her feel more foolish still. And feeling foolish made her angry. "Well," she said. "I still think it's wicked, going around making poor girls unhappy," she said. "It's heartless and pointless."

"He's made that way," said Calcifer.

Markl pulled a three-legged stool up to the fire and sat on it while Sophie sewed, telling her of Howl's conquests and some of the trouble which happened afterward. Sophie muttered at the fine suit. She still felt very foolish. "So, you ate hearts, did you, suit? Why do aunts put things so oddly when they talk about their nieces? Probably fancied you themselves my good suit. How would you feel with a raging aunt after you, eh?" As Michael told her the story of the aunt he kept in mind when spreading the rumours, it occurred to Sophie it may have been just as well the rumours of Howl came to Market Chipping in those words. She could imagine a strong-minded girl like Lettie otherwise getting very interested in Howl and ending up very unhappy.

Markl just suggested lunch. Calcifer grumbled as usual. But Sophie looking at the pantry cupboard and decided they needed to go shop.

She opened to the door to Porthaven and hobbled out with her toucan cane in hand and basket in the crook of her elbow. Markl accompanied her wearing his disguise cloak. An old gent tipped his hat and said good morning, Sophie assumed it would be best to be respectful to a witch so not to get on their bad side. She returned to greeting and the two proceeded down the hill.

"Don't you love early morning market?" Sophie asked. "And just look at the water. I've never seen the ocean before, it's beautiful."

"It always looks like that," Markl replied.

Down on the quayside the market went into full swing. The sort of place you might expect a person with a hotdog stand with a phrase to justify the price amounting of say, cutting his own throat. Sophie filled the basket with the fresh vegetables. After loading a few spuds too, Markl made a quiet gruff protest. "Humph. I hate potatoes," but Sophie would have no nonsense. "Pay up," she ordered, before telling the grocer "Thanks, have a nice day.", Markl now with no room to argue delved into his purse and handed a couple of coins to the grocer. He caught up with Sophie as she studied the wears of a fishmonger. He tried again. "Humph. I hate fish,"

Suddenly a bell started ringing and someone rushed past and shouted. "One of our ships is in the harbour!" several local men joined in the growing crowd. Someone then added about it being on fire. Another paused as he passed Sophie, Markl and the fishmonger to tell them. "Looks like there's been a serious battle!"

"What happened?" enquired the fishmonger. He then glanced at Sophie. "Sorry lady we're closed," before Sophie could say anything the monger ran to join the spectators. Her second thoughts protested. Lady? Doesn't he know I'm supposed to be a witch? But her first thought cut in. But I'm not a witch. So instead she looked over to the mouth of the harbour.

A massive black cloud entered, being slowly toed in by tugboats. Just inside it she could make out a battered and lopsided dreadnought, presumably one of the Royal Sovereign Class. Locals clambered into any boat they could, steam and rowing, and quickly converged on the smoking wreck.

Sophie and Markl passed behind a cart to get a better look. The Captain and the Midshipmen coordinated the abandoning. Sailors, in full uniform jumped from the nearest side to the port, ironically starboard, and swam to the nearest boats.

Markl turned eager. "Come on Sophie, let's get a better look!"

"No," Sophie shook her head. "I've seen all I can take. Let's go home," she then glanced down the street. Beyond a well-dressed man commenting about the unbelievability of the most advance battleship of the local Naval Flotilla getting damaged so, a familiar figure. Lanky, overly tall, dressed in an exaggerated servants dress, with a stovepipe hat adding to its height and a mask. It looked about. No one else noticed it. But Sophie did. She backed into the wall hoping to hide, it didn't look her way and I wanted it stay so. "The Witch's henchmen our here," she whispered to Markl. "What?" the boy asked. As he began to turn to look for them, Sophie gave another hushed order, "Quiet down! Their only a few feet away."

Now Markl went rigid, doing his best to be unnoticed. But perhaps his disguise would draw attention. Together they looked aside to the figure. Sophie whispered the description and they watched the squishing men slink away into the crowd. Sophie wanted to sigh in relief. "He's gone," she said and Markl started moving again. Now Sophie could speak her mind, "I don't understand why no one else seemed to notice him,"

A whistling filled the air. Everyone looked up and collectively gasped.

An explosion burst from the harbour brine. Quickly followed by two more. The crowd ran for their lives. Some of the younger boys of the town pointed. Markl joined in, and didn't notice his hood fall away, though no one notice either in the rush. "Look up there Sophie! It's the enemy's airship!"

The vessel high above them started to unload flyers.

Sophie couldn't take it anymore. This war, she saw enough and ran back to the Jenkins house as fast as she could hobble and push through the crowd. No one would truly take offense, everyone else would be doing it. But, people parted for her. They passed a Port Policeman ordering the people of Porthaven to ignore the propaganda.

Don't worry, her second thoughts thought. I certainly won't. She pushed the door open and stopped at the stairs. She felt ready to collapse as she gulped breath.

Markl put the basket of potatoes down and shut the door. "Sophie? Are you okay?"

"Oh my," Sal came running up as Sophie ascended the steps, supporting herself on her cane and holding the handrail. Sal took Sophie's hand. "Did something happen?"

Wilbert stepped up and looked down at Markl. "It looked to me like pandemonium outside in Porthaven. What's that all about?"

Markl explained about the damaged dreadnought and then about the airship. Wilbert grumbled. "I've said it before Leonard of Quirm will go mental," Markl tilted his head. "Why, he didn't design any of the flying machines?"

"No," Wilbert said. "But he thought of the very concept and designed a few, among other dangerous machines, but he never believed anyone would so bad as to use them nefariously, he's just too goodhearted. Lord Vetinari ordered he destroy the plans once he proved the concepts. The trouble is, he invents things anyone could have thought of, but until now never did, that's what made him a genius, he thought of them first. But since he destroyed his dangerous inventions he couldn't patent them, and so in the wake of the industrialising of the Sto Plains thanks to the clacks and railway, other inventors came up with them independently and didn't mind how they were used. And so, here we are," he waved his arms and staff about to nowhere in general, as if to make his point. "The Discworld's first industrial war." Wilbert finished with a groaning sigh.

Sal nodded. "If it spreads it could destroy the world, like the Mage Wars in metal,"

Sophie shivered. She knew about the Mage Wars, quite possibly what made Octarine Grass Country what it is. The precise origins have been lost, like a bar of soap in the bathtub of time.

Back when early wizards used to be godlike in power due to the strong background magic and built their towers on every hilltop. It is agreed the First Men, shortly after their creation, with understandable reasons, fought against the gods, and each other. Wizards back then couldn't stand one another and their instinctive approach to diplomacy would be to hex the enemy until they glowed, then curse them in the dark. A mutually assured magical destruction. The sun wheeled across the sky, the seas boiled, weird storms ravaged the land, small white pigeons mysteriously appeared in people's clothing.

It threatened the stability of the Disc.

According to the legends, the Old High Ones, to whom even the gods themselves are answerable, took stern action. The gods got banished to very specific places, or were made small, and mankind got recreated a good deal smaller. Much of the old wild magic got sucked out. However, they failed to address the problems of those places which suffered a direct hit by a spell, the magic just fades away, slowly over millennia, indeed million-millennia, releasing as it decays a myriad of sub-astral particles severely distorting the reality around them.

Sophie tried not to think about the war. "I just need a glass of water," she hobbled in a low stoop towards the chair by the fireplace. She heard Markl say, "I'll get it," and opened a tap. She lowered herself onto a chair and leaned on her stick to catch her breath.

Screaming shook the Castle. Everyone jumped.

The sound of wailing and the bathroom door getting thrown open, accompanied by the someone bumping into things upstairs blindly gave way to an irate Howl. He appeared at the top of the stairs with nothing but a towel around his waist, dripping wet and steam trailing after him. But the most notable thing, his hair, a bright, almost fiery orange. He ire squared on the cleaning lady. "Sophie! You, you sabotaged me!" he almost fell down the stairs in his run, rounded them at the bottom and pushed his hair straight into Sophie's vision. "Look! Look what you've done to my hair! Look!"

Sophie could only look at it. It reminded her a little of how her hair used to be. "What a pretty colour," she offered. Wilbert shook his head. "It seems a bit bright on you Howl,"

"It's hideous!" Howl snapped. "You completely ruined my magic potions in the bathroom!"

Sophie backed up. Realising her snooping meant she didn't put the bottles back in the right order. However, her third thoughts, which seemingly were more stupid than her first and second at this moment, shouted out to her to make a sensible excuse, "I just organised things Howl. Nothing's ruined,"

"Wrong! Wrong!" He put his hands to his face. "I specifically ordered you to not get carried away!" tears from in his eyes as he half shouted, and half moaned.

Wilbert tilted his head and raised an eyebrow bemused. "That specification wasn't that specific, and you ordered Markl to keep Sophie in line," Howl gave him a face, not one you would hang up over a fireplace. He then sniffed and lowered himself to the chair. "Now I'm repulsive," he whined with his head in his knees. "I can't live like this."

As he cried, Sophie tried to comfort him, "Come on, it's not that bad," Sal agreed, "Captain Carrot has orange hair, it might be cropped, but he's proud of it."

Howl didn't seem to listen. Inside the orange of his hair slowly faded and transition through purple to a shining raven black. Sophie blinked. Wilbert hummed surprised and half-chuckling he commented, "I haven't seen that shade in a while," Sophie grinned, Howl looked good with black, better than the blonde, she encouraged him hopefully, "You should look at it now, this shade is even better!"

Still lost in this own vain world Howl uttered ominously, "I give up. I see no point in living if I can't be beautiful,"

Wilbert tutted. "Really Howl? You're worse than some young vampires," Howl didn't respond. But the room did.

The inside of the Castle turned dim, the dimensions curved. Huge, cloudy, human-looking, and some very inhuman-looking shapes bellied up in all four corners and advanced on them all. The howls began as a moaning horror, went up to despairing brays, then up again to screams of pain and terror.

Calcifer became very nervous. "Howl cut it out. Howl stop it. Howl?"

Markl explained, "He's calling the spirits of darkness. I saw him do this once before when a girl dumped him."

Wilbert scoffed. "Spirits of darkness? Ha! I studied at the Department of Post-Mortem Communication. One of these days I'll show you what I can do with two bits of wood and a fresh egg," his face then darkened. "If Howl keeps on getting darker, then he could open a hole into the Dungeon Dimensions, and the, Things, could invade," he uttered as darkly as the room.

Sophie approached gingerly. "Now Howl, you're, all right?" she asked sweetly. "Will just dye your hair back again," she put her hand on his shoulder. "Okay?" she felt something sticky on her hand, she pulled it away, a string of green mucus stretched from her fingers and thumb. The slime started secreting from all of Howl's pores. Covered him completely. Draped his head and shoulders in stick dollops, heaped on his hands and knees, trickling in glops down his legs and dripped off the stool in sticky strands.

Sophie backed up overcome with fright. Her second thoughts took over. "Fine!" she yelled. "So, you think you've got it bad? I've never once been beautiful in my entire life!" she turned to the door and holding back her tears she whimpered "I've had enough of this place!" she opened the door to the green, at least in the Waste she could find another magic user to break the spell.

Rain fell in a relentless shower by the lake. Sophie trudged for many yards, before her emotions and all her thoughts took over. How could Howl be so selfish? He's the most attractive man she ever saw, and he thought himself repulsive at the drop of a hat? If he thought orange hair looked hideous what did he think of her strawberry blonde hair, yes, he couldn't have known she happened to be the girl he rescued on May Day, but what did he think of her then? And to be save by someone so vain and selfish?

She felt the rain quickly soak into her clothes. Right she felt she needed to join the sky's sadness. She must have sounded like a dying moose.

A hopping came close to her. Moments later she no longer felt rain fall on her shoulder. She looked up. Turnip-Head held an umbrella, where he got Sophie didn't know, but like her walking stick she needed it. To think, the scarecrow stayed out in the Waste for days. Well, she thought, I did tell him to find a field and stand in it. She wiped her eyes dry and smiled up at him. Still with a whimper in her voice she said, "Thank you Turnip-Head. How did you get to be so kind?"

Markl and Sal came running up, the boy took her arm. "Sophie! Get back inside! We need your help, Howl's in trouble!"

"And," Sal added glancing up at Turnip-Head, "You'll catch your death of cold out here in the rain."

Back inside Calcifer looked desperate as two small flickering flames. He held a dry piece of wood over his head as the muck spread, determined to surround him. "Howl?" he cried in a hoarse whisper. "Cut it out, cut it out! I'm going to drown!" he tried to raise himself of the raise slime line. "I'm drowning here!"

The door opened, and the fire demon called over, "Sophie! Sophie, help him please! Sophie do something!"

Howl's slime slowed. But he slumped with his head on the hearth, ready to fall off.

Wilbert meanwhile, with heavy-duty gloves and chemistry bottles collected the slime. He glanced to the drenched trio as they entered. "I managed to get spirits to go, and Howl's calmed down somewhat," he glanced to the bottles. "Just thought I might do few experiments with this stuff, you never know."

The Vice-Chancellor's words and Howl's patheticness, softened her. Sophie resisted shaking her head. "Such drama," she said.

Markl came up beside her. "Is he died?" Sophie smiled and looked down at him. Such a nice boy, she thought, but a bit helpless in a crisis. "No, he's fine," she rolled up his sleeves. "He's just throwing a tantrum, come on give me a hand," she tied the back of her dress in a knot to keep it from staining as they pushed the chair over to the stairs. Wilbert pulled Howl's arm over his shoulders and hauled him step by step. He shuddered at the slime seeping into his coat. "I never thought I'd have to use the service of Mrs Whitlow and her staff the University after I graduated."

Sophie approached and asked, "Are you not confident in my washing skill young man?" Wilbert shook his head. "Oh, it's not that Sophie, it's just Mrs Whitlow and the laundry staff of Unseen University have years of experience tackling magically induced stains." Sophie paused. "I think I should ask them for tips if Howl's prone to this," she glanced to Markl as he passed them up the stairs. "Get the hot water running," she ordered. Then she looked at Howl. "Come on Howl, you can still walk,"

Sal gave a high-pitched squeak. Sophie looked back. A towel sat almost at the foot of the stairs, and Sal faced away from it with her hands pressed against her already covered eyes. Sophie, presumably thinking the same as Sal, spent the rest of the journey to the bathroom staring at the ceiling.

Thank goodness for the steam, she thought as she existed the bathroom. "Get him clean up you two," she said as she closed the door. Markl responded, "We will."

With the privacy sorted out she stepped back around, watched where she put her boat and looked down at the floor and the trail heading down the stairs and, onto the hearth, where Sal, nervously and shakily cleaned the area around Calcifer. Sophie gave a sigh and put her hand on her hips. "Now I must mop again," still something to do now, and she also needed to vent the frustrations Howl gave her.

Sal called from below, "Do you want some help Sophie?" Sophie smiled. "Yes please, Sal, if you'd be so kind," and she went to the broom cupboard.

She turned to door to green and swept the remaining muck into the Waste. As she and Sal washed the floor Markl came out of the bathroom. "Master Howl told me and Wilbert to leave him to get washed. But Wilbert wants to talk with him,"

* * *

Howl whipped the slime off his face and glared at Wilbert. "I told you to get out."

"Not until we talk about what just happened," he lowered the toilet seat cover and sat on it. "That was very careless of you Howl. Summoning spirits, risking an invasion from the Dungeon Dimensions, almost drowning yourself and Calcifer in smile, not the mention the mess. And to top it all of you scared Sophie to point she almost ran away," he crossed his arms and gave him a killing glare. "I can't be having with that kind of thing."

Howl sighed and sank into the hot water. "Of course, I scared Sophie away, she must think I'm an ugly failure to be pitied on, why did Markl have to tell her about that girl?"

"Because Markl is just a boy. But, no, Sophie does not think that, I agree with her you look fine with your original black hair, have a look in the mirror once you've had a good wash. Indeed, I think Sophie thinks she's the ugly failure," Howl almost jumped out of the bath. "What? What do you mean?"

Wilbert shook his head and muttered to himself, "At least when I get lost in my own thought there for academic proposes," he then addressed Howl again, "Did you not hear what Sophie said before she tried to run off? She said, and I quote, 'So, you think you've got it bad? I've never once been beautiful in my entire life' unquote."

Now Howl almost collapsed into the water. And uttered, "I almost lost her,"

"Are you talking about Sophie or that new girl of yours?" Howl pointed to the door. "Get out, I've got a lot to think about."

Wilbert did get up, as he went to the door he glanced back as Howl turned to the mirror. He blinked. "They're right, my dark hair looks, refined. But how am I going to explain this to Lettie?" he gave a correcting cough, "Miss Hatter,"

Wilbert resisted a hum and left Howl to wash up. He went to his bedroom and changed his slime ridden suit, which he put in a washbag, for a clean one.

As he went the door the stairs Sophie looked up at him. "How is Howl?"

"He's calmed down, a bit miserable with himself. You were good at handling his tantrum, I think most would have just ran away and not come back, and then you get stuck into to sorting out the mess. I am quite impressed."

Sophie smiled. Martha and Lettie used to have tantrums. She knew how to deal with those. On the other hand, it is quite a risk to spank a wizard for getting hysterical about his hair. Sophie didn't know about Dungeons Dimensions, but she figured it would be bad news if anything from there came here. Anyway, Sophie's experience told her tantrums are seldom about the things they appear to be about.

Howl being miserable with himself made Sophie feel sorry for him, she wondered what exactly he got so worked up about.

Wilbert looked back up the stairs. "Well, on a different subject, I know the name of Howl's new fancy,"

Markl who sat at the workbench looked up. "Really? This might be the first time I know the girl's name before she turns up on the doorstep,"

"Howl mentioned the name of a Miss Lettie Hatter," he shrugged and turned to the door. "Now if you excuse me, I've got to go the University and get these washed, depending on if I get stopped by anyone, I may not be back before tomorrow."

As Wilbert left, Sophie looked up the stairs. All her sympathy went for good, with a sharp bang. A good deal of anxiety took its place. Oh, Martha! She thought. You have been busy. So, it wasn't anyone in Cesari's you were talking about!

* * *

 **The biggest thing of note for this chapter I think is Wilbert's speech. This is the unintended consequences of industrialisation. In _Raising Steam_ , we saw two men try to recreate the steam locomotive and a goblin invent the bicycle, Leonard invented the exercise version before _Men at Arms_ and in real life, Leonardo da Vinci designed a lot of inventions, but due to his backward code writing no one found out what he designed until after other people designed and invented them independently. So, it's no stretch to imagine the same happening on the Discworld.**

 **Do any of you agree?**

 **Writing the green slime into words made me feel quite uncomfortable.**

 **I added the phrase "I can't be having with that kind of thing," because it's one of Granny Weatherwax's typical sayings. I wondered if it might be a family saying.**

 **What do you think?**

 **See you soon my friends.**


	8. Chapter 8

Only a particularly bad attack of aches and pains prevented Sophie from setting out for Market Chipping in the evening, the shower in the Waste got into her bones. She laid in her cubbyhole and ached and worried about Martha. It might not be so bad, she thought. She only needed to tell Martha the suitor who made her unsure is none other than Wizard Howl. It would scare Martha off. And she would tell Martha the way to Howl off is to announce she fell in love with him, and then perhaps to threaten him with aunts.

She still creaked when she got up next morning. "Curse the Witch of the Waste!" she muttered to her stick as got it out, ready to leave. She could hear Howl singing in the bathroom as if he never went on a tantrum in his life. She tiptoed to the door as fast as she could hobble.

Howl of course, came out of the bathroom before she reached it. Sophie looked at him sourly. All spruced and dashing, scented gently with apple blossom. The sunlight from the window dazzled off his grey and scarlet suit.

"I think my hair looks rather good in this colour," he said.

"Do you indeed?" grumped Sophie.

"It goes with this suit," said Howl. "You have quite a touch with your needle, don't you? You've given the suit more style somehow."

"Huh!" said Sophie.

Howl stopped with his hand on the knob above the door. "Aches and pains troubling you?" he said. "Or has something annoyed you?"

"Annoyed?" said Sophie. "Why should I be annoyed? Someone only filled the Castle with rotten aspic, almost let horrible monsters into our world, reduced Calcifer to a cinder, and broke a few hundred hearts. Why should that annoy me?"

Howl laughed. "I apologise," he said, turning the knob to the orange setting, to Mad Stoat. "The King of Lancre wants to see me today. I shall probably be kicking my heels in Lancre Castle until evening, but I can do something for your rheumatism when I get back. Don't forget to tell Markl I left that spell for him on the bench." He smiled sunnily at Sophie and stepped out among the spires of the Ramtops.

"And you think that makes it all right!" Sophie growled as the door shut. But the smile mollified her. "If that smiled works on me, then it's no wonder poor Martha doesn't know her own mind!" she muttered.

But, the King of Lancre? Why would he want to consult a wizard? Lancre is witch country. No, Howl must be lying.

"I need another log before you go," Calcifer reminded her. Sophie hobbled to drop another log into the grate. Then she set off to the door again. But here Markl came running downstairs, in a new pair of boats and snatched the remains of a loaf off the bench as he ran to the door. "You don't mind, do you?" he said in an agitated way. "I'll bring a fresh loaf when I come back. I've got something very urgent to see to today, but I'll be back by the evening. If the sea captain calls for his wind spell, it's on the end of the bench, clearly labelled." He turned the doorknob green-downwards and jumped out on to the windy hillside, loaf clutched to his stomach. "See you!" he shouted as the castle trundled away past him and the door slammed.

"Botheration!" said Sophie. "Calcifer, how does a person open the door when there's no one inside the castle?"

"I'll open it for you, or Markl. Howl does it himself," said Calcifer.

So, no one would be locked out when Sophie left. She felt not at all sure would be coming back, but she did not intend to tell Calcifer. She gave Markl time to get well on the way to wherever he would be going and set off for the door again. This time Calcifer stopped her. "If you're going to be away long," he said, "you might leave some logs where I can reach them."

"Can't you pick up logs?" Sophie asked, intrigued in spite her impatience.

For answer, Calcifer stretched out an arm-shaped flame divided into finger-like flames at the end. Not very long, nor did it look strong. "See? I can almost reach the hearth," he said proudly.

Sophie stacked a pile of logs in front of the grate so Calcifer could at least reach the top one. "You're not to burn them until you've got them in the grate," she warned him, and she set off for the door yet again.

This time somebody knocked on it before she got there.

It's just one of those days, Sophie thought. It must be the sea-captain. She put her hand to the knob.

"No," Calcifer said. "It's the Castle door. But I'm not sure…"

Then Markl must be back for some reason, Sophie thought as she opened the door.

A creature leered at her. A foot high. Dressed in a bright jumpsuit and aviator helmet, with little pointed horns, and goggles. Its little feet flapped like a hummingbird's wings, allowing it to fly. Sophie blinked, it looked like nothing see ever saw before. Not a gnome, nor a goblin.

The creature crossed his arms at her and looked up at the Castle. "You the owner of this gash job crate?" it said, evidently male, and in a very posh voice, like he came out of Hugglestones School.

"I'm sorry?" Sophie asked. The creature indicated to the Castle "This, do you own it?"

"Oh, no," Sophie explained. "This is Wizard Howl's Castle," the creature hummed unsure. "Wizards," it said. "Tricky, a right bunch of penguins them, seen them fly a mahogany spitfire once or twice," it reached into its pocket and pulled out a full side notebook and pencil, "Means more bumph," he started writing things on the piece of paper and muttered, "Parked illegally on public property. Undercarriage looks ready to fold up. And construction is a flap, whoever built this was a right bungalow."

Sophie looked back to Calcifer, but the fire demon shrugged.

The creature tapped her on the shoulder. "Now, is this Wizard Howl in service to Ingary or Strangia?"

"Oh, no," Sophie said. "Howl's not joined the war yet."

"Ah, civilian then, a bus driver" he wrote more things down on this notebook. "Just what I need, more bumph. Can't put him on Jankers," he pulled the sheet out of the notebook and gave it to her. A yellow piece of paper with violations written up on it.

The creature put the notebook and pencil back in his pocket. "Tell Wizard Howl when he gets back this is his first offence, so I'm only to sabotage one bit of Gubbins," he looked up and nodded. "One of them dustbins will do, that'll go in the drink," he flew over the Sophie's piece and paper and added at the bottom,

'Removal of one dorsal-turret'

"Sabotage?" Sophie exclaimed. The creature looked at her confused. "Of course, what's a gremlin supposed to do?" Sophie jaw dropped and from his pocket the gremlin pulled up a large spanner. "If you don't mind, I've got a quota to fill,"

"Calcifer!" Sophie screamed. "Make the Castle go, fast!" The stone blocks around the doorway crunched and grated as the Castle started to sidle and raise itself up at the same time. The green-brown moorland rushed past.

The gremlin shouted, "Hey! Get back here!" Just then Turnip-Head came bouncing up. He wheeled his arms around to smack at the gremlin. Sophie smiled. "Thank you, Turnip-Head!" she shouted back.

The gremlin yelled. "Get off me you Starfish Walt! This has gone all pear shaped."

Sophie shut the door. This, she thought, shows how stupid it is for an eldest child to try to see her fortune! Sal made some offhanded comment on gremlins. Now, one tried to damage the Castle.

Then, all at once, she discovered the real drawback to be an old woman. Her heart gave a leap and a little stutter, and then seemed to be trying to bang its way out of her chest. It hurt. She shook all over and her knees trembled. She rather thought she might be dying. It took all she could do to get to the chair by the hearth. She sat there panting, clutching her chest. She could feel, for the first time, the Castle rumbling around as she sat huddled in the chair.

"Is something the matter?" Calcifer asked.

"Yes." Sophie gasped. "My heart. There was a gremlin at the door!"

"What has a gremlin to do with your heart?" Calcifer asked.

"It was going to damage the Castle. It gave me a terrible fright. And my heart, but you wouldn't understand, you're a silly young demon!" Sophie panted. "You haven't got a heart."

"Yes, I have," Calcifer said, as proudly as he did when revealing his arms. "Down in the glowing part under the logs. And don't call me young. I'm a good million years older than you are! Can I stop the Castle now?"

"Only if the gremlin's gone," said Sophie. "Has it?"

"I can't tell," said Calcifer. "It's not something I'm familiar with, I didn't even think they existed. I told you I couldn't really see outside."

Sophie got up and dragged herself to the door again, feeling ill. She opened it slowly and cautiously. Green steepness, rock and purple slopes whirled past, making her fell dizzy, but she took a grip on the door frame and leaned out to get a better view of the moorland disappearing behind them. Turnip-Head hopped about fifty yards to the rear. From clump to heather clump, holding his fluttering stick arms at an angle to balance himself on the hillside. As Sophie watched she called out to him, "Is the gremlin gone? Give one high jump for yes, two for no."

Turnip-Head made on high jump. Sophie waited for a moment to see if he made a second. When he didn't she gave out a thankful sigh. "Thank you," she called as she shut the door.

"It no longer out there," she said.

"Good," Calcifer said. "I'm aiming to circle the hills and get back to where Markl left us in time to pick him up this evening. What a fuss!"

Sophie returned to the chair, wondering if she would die thanks to the shock. She did not want to die yet before she talked to Martha.

As the day went on, everything in the Castle began to jiggle with its speed. Bottle chinked. The skull clattered on the bench. Sophie could hear things falling off the shelf in the broom cupboard and the bathroom and splashing into the bath.

She began to feel a little better. She dragged herself to the door again and looked out, with her hair flying in the wing. The ground streaked past underneath. The hills seemed to be spinning slowly as the Castle sped across them. The grinding and rumbling of the Castle and the ground nearly deafened her. And the smoke puffed out in blasts. Turnip-Head kept a steady pace.

Finally, the reached Star Lake once more.

"Good." Calcifer said. "That was quite a strain."

The rumbling died away. Things stopped jiggling. Calcifer went to sleep, in the way fires do, sinking among the logs until they became rosy cylinders plated with white ash, with only the hint of yellow and orange deep underneath.

Sophie felt quite spry again by then. She went and fished six packets and a bottle out of the slimy water in the bath. She did not dare leave them soaked after yesterday, so she laid them on the floor and, very cautiously, sprinkled them with the stuff labelled, DRYING POWER. They became dry almost instantly. Encouraging. Sophie let the water out of the bath.

She felt cheerful enough to busy herself getting supper. She bundled everything on the bench into a heap around the skull at one end and began chopping onions. "At least your eyes don't water, my friend," she told the skull. "Count your blessings."

The door sprang open.

Sophie nearly cut herself in her fright, thing it may be the gremlin again. But no, Markl burst jubilantly in. He dumped a loaf, a pie, and a pink-and-white-striped box on top of the onions. Then he seized Sophie around her waist and danced her around the room.

"It's all right! It's all right!" he shouted joyfully.

Sophie hopped and stumbled to keep out of the way of Markl's boots. "Steady, steady!" she gasped, giddily trying to hold the knife where it would not cut either of them. "What is all right?"

"Lettie loves me!" Markl shouted, dancing her almost into the stairs and then almost into the hearth. "She's never even seen Howl! It was all a mistake!" He spun them both around in the middle of the room.

"Will you let me go before this knife cuts one of use!" Sophie squawked. "And perhaps explain a little."

Markl whirled Sophie to the chair and dumped her into it, where she sat gasping. "Last night I wished you'd dyed his hair blue!" he said. "I don't mind now. When Wilbert told us about 'Lettie Hatter' I even thought of dyeing him blue myself. I knew he was going to drop this girl, just like all the other, as soon as he'd got her to love him. And when I thought it was my Lettie, I… Anyway," he took a stool out and took his boots off. "I borrowed Wilbert's pair of seven-league boots and tore down to Market Chipping today. And it was all right! Howl must be after some other girl with the same name. Lettie's never even seen him."

"Let's get this straight," Sophie said dizzily. "We are talking about the Lettie Hatter who works in Cesari's pastry shop, are we?"

"Of course, we are!" Markl said jubilantly. "I've loved her ever since she started work there, and I almost couldn't believe it when she said she loved me. She has hundreds of admirers. I wouldn't have been surprised if Howl was one of them. I'm so relieved! I got you a cake from Cesari's to celebrate. Where did I put it? Oh, here it is."

He thrust the pink and white box at Sophie. Onion fell off it into her lap.

"How old are you, Markl?" Sophie asked.

"Thirteen last May Day," said Markl. "You're probably thinking I'm too young to be engaged, I've still got three years of my apprenticeship to run, and Lettie's got even longer. But we promised one another, and we don't mind waiting."

Then Markl is about the right age for Martha, Sophie thought. And she knew him by now to be a nice, steady lad with a career as a wizard ahead of him. Bless Martha's heart!

"Are you sure your Lettie was telling the truth about Howl?" she asked anxiously.

"Positive," said Markl. "I know when she's lying. She stops twiddling her thumbs."

"She does too!" said Sophie, chuckling.

"How do you know?" Markl asked in surprise.

She gulped. "Well, remember I'm a young woman curse to be old by the Witch of the Waste?" Markl nodded. "Lettie," Sophie continued. "Is one of little sisters. And when we were small girls she was not always terribly truthful. But's she's quite young and, uh… Well, suppose she changes as she grows. She, ah, may not look quite the same in a year or so."

"Neither will I," said Markl. "People around our age change all the time. It won't worry us. She'll still be Lettie."

"Not entirely," Sophie said.

"What do you mean?" Markl asked.

"The sister you love isn't actually called Lettie," she leaned in and whispered, "Can you keep it a secret? I promised not to tell, but I figured you'd find out eventually, I just want to prepare you, that all,"

"Don't worry Sophie," Markl said. "I'll not tell, only you, your sister and I will know."

"Thank you, Markl," she smiled. "My sister working at Cesari's is actually call Martha," Markl smile grew slightly. "That name's even better," then he tilted his head. "But why's she going by the name Lettie?"

She sighed and explained about how the two swapped apprenticeships. "But," Sophie went on anxiously, "Suppose she was telling the truth, she just knew Howl under a false name?"

"Don't worry, I thought of that!" said Markl. "I described Howl, you must admit he's pretty recognisable, I did say he changes his hair colour. She hasn't seen him or his wretched harp. I didn't even have to tell her he doesn't know how to play the thing. She never set eyes on him, and she twiddled her thumbs all the time she said she hadn't."

"That's a relief!" Sophie said, lying stiffly back in her chair. And it certainly was a relief about Martha. But not much relief, because Sophie knew positive the only other Lettie Hatter to be the real one. If there existed another, someone would have come into the hat shop and gossiped about it. It sounded like strong-minded Lettie, not giving into Howl. What worried Sophie, Lettie gave Howl her real name. She might not be sure about him, but she liked him enough to trust him with an important secret.

"Don't look so anxious!" Markl laughed, leaning to the back of the chair. "Have a look at the cake I brought you."

As Sophie started opening the box, it dawned on her Markl went from seeing her as a natural disaster to liking her. She must have subconsciously noticed it since she told him the whole truth about Lettie, Martha and herself. Only fair to let him know the sort of family wanted to marry into. The box came open. One of Cesari's most luscious cakes, covered in cream and cherries and little curls of chocolate. To say Cesari's made cakes, it is true by strict definition, but it is more accurate to say Cesari's creates cakes. There is difference.

"Oh!" Sophie exclaimed.

The colour wheel clicked around to the orange of its own accord and Howl came in. "What a marvellous cake! My favourite kind," he said. "Where did you get it?"

Markl explained in a sheepish, conscious way, leaving out about Martha.

"It looks worth the journey," Howl said, inspecting the cake. "I've heard Cesari's is better than any cake shops in Kingsbury. Stupid of me never to have been in the place, the closest I got to it was on May Day, but the Witch of the Waste's minions got in the way," he looked over the table. "And is that a pie I see on the bench?" He went over to look. "Pie in a bed of raw onions. Human skull looking put-upon." He picked up the skull and knocked an onion ring out of its eye socket. "I see Sophie has been busy again. Couldn't you have restrained her, my friend?"

The skull yattered its teeth at him. Howl looked startled and put it down rather hastily.

"Is something the matter?" Markl asked. He seemed to know the signs.

"There is," said Howl. "I shall have to find someone to black my name to the King."

Markl tilted his head. "King Verence or King Rolland?"

"Preferably both," Howl replied. "But His Majesty the King at least."

"Was there something wrong with the wagon spell?" asked Markl.

"No. It worked perfectly. That's the trouble," Howl said, restlessly twiddling an onion ring on one finger. "King Verence is trying to pin me down to do something else know, and if word gets out King Rolland might try as well. Calcifer, if we're not very careful, either of them, or maybe both are going to appoint me Head Sorcerer." Calcifer did not answer. Howl roved back to the fireside and realised Calcifer currently slept. "Wake him up, Markl," he said. "I need to consult him."

Markl threw two logs on Calcifer and called him. Nothing happened, apart from a thin spire of smoke.

"Calcifer!" Howl shouted. This did no good either. Howl gave Markl a mystified look and picked up the poker, which Sophie never saw him do before. "Sorry, Calcifer," he said, jabbing under the unburned logs. "Wake up!"

One thick black cloud of smoke rolled up and stopped.

"Go away," Calcifer grunted. "I'm tired."

At this, Howl looked thoroughly alarmed. "What's wrong with him? I've never known him like this before!"

"I think it was the gremlin," Sophie said.

Howl swivelled around on his knees and levelled his glass-marble eyes at her. "What have you done now?" He went on staring while Sophie explained, she gave him the ticket. "A gremlin?" he said. "Calcifer agreed to speed up the Castle because of a gremlin? Dear Sophie, do please tell me how you bully a fire demon into being that obliging. I'd dearly love to know!"

"I didn't bully him," said Sophie. "It gave me a turn and he was sorry for me."

"It gave her a turn and Calcifer was sorry for her," Howl repeated. "My good Sophie, Calcifer is never sorry for anyone. Anyway, I hope you enjoy raw onions and cold pie for your supper, because you've almost put Calcifer out."

"There's the cake," Markl said, trying to make peace.

The food did seem to improve Howl's temper, although he kept casting anxious looks at the unburning logs in the hearth all the time they were eating. The pie did taste good cold, and the onions possessed quite a taste when Sophie had soaked them in vinegar. The cake, superb. While thy ate it, Markl risked asking Howl what the King of Lancre wanted.

"Nothing definite yet," Howl said gloomily. "But he talked about Prince Justin and Stephen, he doesn't know how the Prince of Strangia disappeared, but through correspondence with Mr de Worde in Ankh-Morpork, he knows King Rolland and Justin had a good old argument before the Prince stormed off, and people are talking. Verence I think wants me to volunteer to look for his brother. And like a fool I went and said I didn't think Wizard Suliman was dead, and that made matters worse."

"Why do you want to slither out of looking for the Prince?" Sophie demanded. "Don't you think you can find him?"

"Rude as well as a bully, aren't you?" Howl said. He still didn't forgive her yet about Calcifer. "I want to get out of it because I know I can find him if you must know. Justin was great buddies with Sir Benjamin, and the argument was because he told the King he was going to look for him. He didn't think the King should have sent Ben to the Waste in the first place. Now, even you must know there is a certain lady in the Waste who is very bad news. She promised to fry me alive last year, and she sent a curse out after me that I avoided because I had the sense to give her a false name." He sighed. "Up until you carried it in your pocket."

Sophie suppressed her grumbling by her awe. "You mean you jilted the Witch of the Waste?"

Howl cut himself another lump of cake, looking sad and honourable. "That is not the way to put it. I admit I thought I was fond of her for a time. She is in some ways a very sad lady, very unloved. Every man in Ingary is scared stiff of her. You ought to know how that feels, Sophie dear."

Sophie's mouth opened in utter indignation. Markl said quickly, "Do you think we should move the Castle? That's why you invented it, wasn't it?"

"That depends on Calcifer." Howl looked over his shoulder at the barely smoking logs again. "I must say, if I think of the King and the Witch both after me, I get a craving for planting the Castle on a nice, frowning rock a thousand miles away."

Markl obviously wished he kept quiet. Sophie could he thought a thousand miles would be a terribly long way from Martha, even with seven-league boots. "But what happens to your Lettie Hatter," she said to Howl, "if you up and move?"

"I expect that will be all over by then," Howl said absently. "But if I could only think of a way to get the King off my back." He finished his chunk of cream and cake and went upstairs.

Sophie watched him as he left. Once out of sight and out of hearing range she glanced to Markl. He looked worried and verging on heartbroken.

She needed to leave. She couldn't take much of Howl. First green slime, then glaring at her for something Calcifer did freely, and now brushing her sister aside and thinking of hiding from the King?

Tomorrow she would slip off to the Chalk and tell Lettie all about it. If she could get Lettie to stall, keep Howl trying, then perhaps Fate would force his hand. And maybe the Lady, who personifies million-to-one-chances, and all the other chances, would help.

* * *

 **So, gremlins are really in the Discworld now. We'll be exploring them a little bit more in the coming chapter.**

 **Their language is basically RAF Slang. Why? Because Gremlins started out being batted about by RAF personnel in the 1920s through to and beyond the Second World War.**

 **Gremlins were introduced to the populous by Roald Dahl. He was a fighter pilot in the RAF during the early days of the Second World War, then an assistant air attaché at the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. While there he wrote and published his first children's book,** ** _The Gremlins_** **written for Walt Disney Productions, as a promotional device for a feature-length animated film which never made.**

 **I'm using an exaggerated version of the Disney gremlins, like those seen in the** ** _Epic Mickey_** **games, not the** ** _Gremlins_** **film series as the Disney ones are as close to the original source as possible. And I'm throwing in a little Monty Python flavour into it too just for fun.**

 **As for the name of the King, Rolland was recorded on the Howl's Moving Castle wiki, on the page from Princess Valeria. I imagine it was pulled by someone out of thin air, but I'll use if I want to, it just feels silly constantly writing the King of Ingary, I don't call Queen Elizabeth the Queen of England every time I refer to her. Do any UK citizen reading this differ?**

 **Farewell for now dear readers.**


	9. Chapter 9

To Sophie's relief, Calcifer blazed up bright and cheerful next morning. If not so feed up of Howl, how glad Howl became to see Calcifer would have almost touched her.

"I thought she'd done for you, old ball of gas," Howl said kneeling at the hearth with his sleeves trailing in the ash.

"I was only tired," Calcifer said. "There was a drag on the Castle. I'd never taking it that fast before."

"Well, don't let her make you do it again," said Howl. He stood up, gracefully brushing off his grey and scarlet suit. "Make a start on that spell today, Markl. And if anyone come from either King, I'm away on urgent private business until tomorrow. I'm going to see Lettie, but you needn't tell them that." He picked up the harp and went to the door. A knock sounded. Calcifer called over, "Castle door!"

Sophie went stiff. Howl opened the door.

The gremlin fluttered outside again. When Howl opened the door, the creature swung his spanner at him. Howl used the harp to block. It gave an awful twang. Sophie gave a faint squawk of terror. As the flying menace and the Castle owner fought. Meanwhile, Wilbert made hurried notes.

Calcifer's face leaned out of the grate. Markl stood stock still beyond. "Gremlins really do exist!" he said.

"Oh, really!" Howl panted. Howl kicked it out the door. It spun back before recovering and speed towards the Castle again. Howl hurriedly laid the harp on the doorstep and jumped down to meet it. "No, you don't, my friend," he said with one hand out. "Go back to where you came from." He walked forward slowly, still with his hand out. The gremlin retreated a little, fluttering slowly and warily backwards. When Howl stopped, the gremlin stopped. It raised his arms into a boxing stance.

"So," Howl said. "You won't go?"

"No, swampy penguin, I'm brassed off. I had a job to do and you didn't compile. That crate you call a Castle is a hazard, it needs to come down."

"I'm afraid you'll have to go," Howl said. "You scare Sophie, and there's no knowing what she'll do when she's scared. Come to think of it, you scare me too." Howl's arms moved, heavily, as if he was lifting a large weight, until they were raised high above his head. He shouted out a strange word, half hidden in a crack of sudden thunder. And the gremlin went soaring away. Up and backwards it went wheeling in protest, shouting something no one could make out and less so the higher it got, up and out, on and on, until becoming a soaring speck in the sky, then a vanishing point in the clouds, and then not to be seen at all.

Howl lowered his arms and came back to the doorway, mopping his face on the back of his hand. "I take back my hard words, Sophie," he said, painting. "That thing was alarming, and annoying."

Sophie gave a weak little laugh. Her heart behaved badly again.

Howl realised something wrong occurred with her. He jumped indoors across his harp, took hold of her elbow, and sat her in the chair. "Take it easy now!" Something happened between Howl and Calcifer. Sophie felt it, because Howl held her and Calcifer stilled leaned out of the grate. Whatever did happen, her heart began to behave properly almost at once. Howl looked at Calcifer, shrugged, and turned away to give Markl a whole lot of instructions about making Sophie keep quiet for the rest of the day. The he picked up the harp and left at last through the black door.

Sophie lay in the chair and pretended to feel twice as ill as she did. She needed to let Howl get out of sight. It would be nuisance, him going to the Chalk as well, but she would walk from Mad Stoat, or ask Sal to take her via broomstick. The important thing, she told herself, is not meet him on the way. She watched Markl slyly while he spread out the spell and scratched his head over it. She waited until he dragged big leather books off the shelves and began making notes in a frantic, depressed sort of way. When he seemed properly absorbed, Sophie muttered several times, "Stuffy in here!"

Markl took no notice. "Terribly stuffy," Sophie said, getting up and shambling to the door. "Fresh air." She opened the door to Mad Stoat and walked out. Sophie landed in the heather and looked around to get her bearings. Some of the standing stones in Sal front garden were missing.

"Oh," Sal said walking up. "The stones are keen on their privacy. Did you want something Sophie?" Sophie blinked at the idea of Standing Stone moving. Trolls yes, but they're at least humanoid, but monoliths? She realised Sal expected an answer, so she recovered herself and asked, "Yes Sal, could you tell me how to get to, and how far away is the Chalk?"

"The Chalk?" Sal exclaimed and questioned. "That's over seventy miles away!"

Too far to walk, and given Lancre, too mountainous. "Could you take me there on your broomstick?" Sal put her hand on her hips. "I afraid I can't," she said passive aggressively. "My broomstick isn't fast. It would take half the day to get to the Chalk, not accounting for the weather, and it gets cold flying so high. I don't know if you'd make it in your condition."

Markl came out of the door shouting, "What are you doing?" From the way he looked at her, Sophie could see he thought the gremlin sent her wrong in the head.

"I'm perfectly all right," Sophie said indigently. "I'm simply going to see my sister in the Chalk,"

Sal stirred. "Wait, Lettie Hatter, the Chalk," she squeaked. "Your sister is Mistress Aching's new apprentice?"

Markl cut in, "The Chalk is over seventy miles away from Lancre. I promised Howl I'd make you rest. I can't let you go. I told him I wouldn't let you out of my sight."

Sal looked between the two and turned to Wilbert who peered out the door. She walked up to her betrothed and asked what happened.

"Besides," said Markl, slowly grasping the situation, "Howl must have gone to the Chalk too,"

"I'm sure he has," said Sophie.

"Then you're anxious about Lettie?" Markl arrived at the point. "I see! But I can't let you go."

"I'm going," said Sophie.

"But if Howl sees you there, he'll be furious," Markl went on, working thing out. "And if he returns and you're not here, he'll get curious, and maybe mad. Because I promised him, he'll be mad with both of us. You ought to rest." Then, when Sophie got ready to hit him, he exclaimed, "Wait!" he turned to Wilbert. "Can we borrow your pair of seven-league boots again?" he explained to Sophie, "If we each take on boot and go together, we can get there in four steps, then I won't be letting you out of my sigh and you won't be doing anything strenuous, and we'll get there before Howl does, so he won't even know we've been. That solves all out problems beautifully!"

So please with himself, Sophie did not protest with Markl. She shrugged and supposed Markl should better learn about Lettie a little more. Wilbert came down with the boots. They looked very old on closer inspection. The Vice-Chancellor explained he inherited the pair from his Great-uncle, the late Archchancellor Galder Weatherwax, he inherited his staff and his proper wizard's hat from him too. He measured Sophie's shoesize and stuffed the boot accordingly to allow it to fit better.

Once with the boots on, Sal helped Sophie to walk. Markl seemed at home with the boots, so walked easily without leaping. Wilbert consulted a map and compass before positioning Markl in the right direction. As Sal helped Sophie to stand with Markl she looked to Wilbert. "I thought seven-league boots were a myth until Markl told me about them."

"Oh no," Wilbert said. "They're real, but they went out of fashion more than ten years before me and Sal were born, for safety, wizards only used them, but they later adopted broomsticks."

"Why? What was wrong about them?"

"Without the proper preparation, it can cause sever groin injury when trying to put one foot twenty-one miles in front of the other. In other words, without the proper sequence of spells and safety checks, you could end up tearing yourself in two."

Sophie felt her heart jump again. Sal held her up. "It's all right, Markl's learned the right things to do." Markl nodded. "Don't worry Sophie, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Now stand on the foot with the ordinary shoe," they did so, Sophie found it shaky, keeping balance on a leg about ninety years old. "Now tread,"

Zip! The landscape instantly rushed past them so fast everything became a blur, a grey-green blur for the land and a blue-grey blur the sky.

The wind of their gong tore at Sophie's hair and dragged every wrinkle in her face backwards until she thought she would arrive with half her face behind each ear.

After three more steps the rushing stopped as suddenly as it began. Everything turned calm and sunny. A lamb nearby stared at them. Beyond it scattered farmsteads, a few villages, one or two bordering on a town, and a couple of distance clacks towers, among green down lands. Flocks of sheep, moving slowly, drift over the short turf like clouds on a green sky. Here and there sheepdogs speed over the turf like comets.

Sophie thought she heard someone nearby shout, "Crivens!" But unfortunately, Sophie took a step on the foot with the seven-league boot.

"Don't put that foot down!" Markl yelled, too late.

Another zipping blur and more rushing wind. When it stopped, Sophie found herself right down the Chalk, almost to the home of the Baron. "Oh, drat!" she said, and hopped around on her shoe and tried again.

Zip! Blur. And back to the green with the lamb, staggering forwards with the weight of the boot. She glimpsed Markl diving to catch her.

Zip! Blur. "Oh, bother!" wailed Sophie. On the edge of the Chalk, boarding on Near Lancre. Sophie saw only this much before her caught in the heather and she stumbled forwards again.

Zip! Zip! Zip! This time Sophie ended up back at Mad Stoat. Sal looked up bemused. Sophie turned herself around. Zip! Zip! Zip! Zip! Back in the Chalk, but how did you stop? Zip!

"Oh, confound it!" Sophie cried, almost of the Baron's doorstep.

This time she hobbled around very carefully and with great deliberation. Zip! And fortunately, the boot landed in a load of sheep dung and she sat down with a thump. Markl sprinted up before Sophie could move and dragged the boot off her foot. "Thank you!" Sophie cried breathlessly. "There seemed no reason why I should ever stop!"

Sophie's heart pounded a bit as they walked across the common to the nearest farmhouse, but only in the way hearts do when you have done a lot rather quickly. She felt very grateful for whatever Howl and Calcifer did.

The sign on the gate 'Home Farm'.

"Nice place," Markl remarked as he hid the boots in a nearby hedge.

Sophie agreed. A big house. Thatched roof, with white walls between the black beams. A prefect hot summer morning in the Chalk.

Mistress Aching answered the door herself. A smart rural girl, dressed in a blue dress, and very tough boots with only her black pointed hat denoted her profession. She looked from Sophie to Markl. She narrowed her eyes at the boy. "Are you Markl Fisher?"

"Uh," Markl flinched. "Yes, but how…"

"Sal's mentioned you," she looked back to Sophie. "And you must be Sophie, Geoffrey and Nanny mentioned you from the other day," she gave her a look as if she stared into Sophie's soul. "You're here to see Lettie, aren't you?"

"How?" Sophie blustered. Tiffany smiled. "I'm a witch, I can tell these sorts of things. Your sister's busy right now, but you're welcome to come with me to the hut and wait."

She opened the door wider. Instantly a thin and elderly white cat squeezed past Mistress Aching's skirts, snuck between Sophie and Markl, and ran across garden to the road.

"Stop You!" Mistress Aching gasped, flying off in pursuit. "I don't want her exploring right now!"

A helter-skelter chase filled the next minute or so, in which cat ran and leapt hither and thither, mewing and whining in a disturbed way, and Mistress Aching and Sophie ran after the cat, who Mistress Aching kept calling You, getting in one another's way, and Markl ran after Sophie crying, "Stop! You'll make yourself ill!" Then the cat stopped at a corner of the house, with the air cats have as if it never did anything wrong and thought everyone else idiots for thinking so. Markl realised the way to stop Sophie would be to stop the cat. He made a crosswise dash plunged around the house after the cat and seized it. The cat wriggled and scratched at him, Markl felt the claws.

Sophie hobbled up to find Markl carrying the cat carefully backwards and made such strange faces at her she first took him to be ill or didn't like the cats. But he jerked his head so often towards somewhere she realised he tried to tell her something. She stuck her face around the corner of the house, expecting to see a flock of sheep.

Howl stood there with Lettie. Beside a shepherding hut. Lettie sat on the steps. Howl knelt on one knee in the grass as her feet, holding on of her hands and looking noble and ardent. Lettie smiled lovingly at him. But the worst of it, as far as Sophie felt, Lettie did not look like Martha at all. Lettie appeared as her own extremely beautiful self. She wore a dress of pinks and white. Her dark hair trailed in glossy curls over one shoulder and her eyes shore with devotion for Howl.

Sophie brought her head back around the corner and looked with dismay at Markl holding the mewing cat. "He must have used a speed spell or maybe it's something to do with the black door," Markl whispered, equally dismayed.

Mistress Aching caught them up. "You, I'm very disappointed," she said in a fierce whisper to the cat. "I'll put a spell on you if you do that once more!" The cat blinked and stop scratching at Markl. Mistress Aching pointed a stern finger. "Into the house! Stay in the house, or there will be a reckoning!" The cat wriggled out of Markl's hand and slinked away around the house again. "Thank you so much," Mistress Aching said to Markl as they all followed it. "You is usually a well-behaved cat, well as much as any cat can be, but being the queen of cats in the Chalk, she gets more self-centred then Mrs Earwig at times. She was either going to check on one of her litters, or maybe scratch at Lettie's visitor. Inside You!" she shouted sternly in the front garden, as the cat seemed to be think of going around the house and the barn to get to the hut the other way. You gave her a woeful look over her shoulder and crawled grumpily indoors.

"That cat may have the right idea," Sophie said. "Mistress Aching, do you know who Lettie's visitor is?"

Mistress Aching chuckled. "The Wizard Pendragon, or Howl, or whatever he calls himself," she said. "But Lettie and I don't let on we know. It amused me when he first turned up, calling himself Sylvester Oak, Sal's description of him was so accurate, I could even tell he magical dyed his hair blonde."

"But," Markl began, "Don't you know the reputation Howl has?"

Getting into Mistress Aching's conversation reminded Sophie of getting into a turning skipping rope. You needed to choose the exact moment, but once in you remained in until she finished, and you just wanted to listen to her, she naturally carried a form of natural authority to her. Mistress Aching turned herself slightly to face Markl. "Most of it's just talk, to my mind," she said. Markl opened his mouth to say no so, but he already jumped into the skipping rope and then it went on turning. "I've seen first-hand how someone makes a myth of themselves. I apprenticed with an extremely terrifying witch named Miss Eumenides Treason, she claimed to be one hundred and thirteen, but in truth she was younger by two years. Blind and deaf but used her skill in the craft to use the eyes and ears of nearby animals," and adding grumbling "Including me. She went further with the witch black than any other, black walls and floor, black goats and black hens, she even coated her cheese with black wax," she paused and shock her head, before she went on explaining.

Miss Treason built up her infamous reputation so much the locals unknowingly joined in the mythmaking. Claiming she kept a demon in the cellar, ate spider, got visited by kings and princes, reward go citizens with a purse of silver, and for the bad on, she would open their bellies with her thumbnails, and sported a cow's tail.

She wore a heavy iron clock on her belt and kept winding it up. The story in village claimed she used it as her heart when her first heart died, she made the story up.

"All a myth, so that she would become one. That's the power of stories. The difference between Miss Treason and Mrs Earwig is this. Mrs Earwig believes power comes from the elaborate deceives she insists on using, but they don't inherently have any magic. But Miss Treason knew you don't need a wand or a magic circle or a shamble or even a pointy hat to be a witch, just give people a show, anything they don't understand is magic, that's what gives them power, what people think and believe. That way, you get respect. Even after she died people still leave messages on her grave like a prayer, and this is after one of Mrs Earwig's apprentices took over Miss Treason's steading."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Granny's idea that, just to spite Mrs Earwig and her methods, we had to give Hawkins a crash course in proper witchcraft. I've still got years ahead of me before I reach Granny's level of excellence in the craft, but I'll do it my way." She sighed. Then she returned to Sophie. "So, did you want anything?"

"Well," Sophie hesitated. Lettie knew about Howl, and she seemed to like him. The trouble is, how long before she falls in love with Howl? Sophie looked up at Mistress Aching, "Are you going to let Lettie fall in love with Howl?"

Mistress Aching quickly stifled a laugh and glanced around the corner. "Of course not, Lettie isn't falling in love either. I'd say it's more fallen in like, we're just humouring him. Nanny Ogg told me about the type of man he is, I'd like to see how long it takes before this challenge breaks him."

"I wouldn't do that," Sophie hastily added, now fully joining the game, she held back singing one of those old rhymes. She explained about Howl's extreme temperament and the side effects which may occur if he became depressed, mentioning the incident with his hair the other day and what Markl said about the girl who dumped him.

"I see," Mistress Aching said. "We won't reject him, we'll just wait for him to leave then."

This relieved Sophie, she explained about what Howl said about moving the Castle away, and how it would affect the inhabitants. Mistress Aching nodded. "I'll make sure to mention it to Lettie once Howl's gone."

"Please," Sophie blurted. "Don't tell her about me and this spell," Mistress Aching narrowed her eyes, but nodded.

Markl, who kept looking nervously to the corner of the house in case Howl came around it and discovered them, managed to trample through the skipping rope and stop it by saying, "I think we'd better be going."

"Are you sure you won't come in for a taste of my cheeses?" asked Mistress Aching, then she added with a giggle, "Sometimes they have a life of their own."

Markl shook his head and explained about what happened in the morning and the promise he made to Howl. Mistress Aching grew curious. "A gremlin you say?" she looked off slightly. "I think this is what Miss Tick calls a Grade Three Accidental Monster,"

"Accidental?" Sophie asked. "You mean created, like orcs?" she read about the Evil Empire and how its Emperor made Igors breed goblins, possible with other races including humans into living weapons, but recent revisions of history now include evidence, albeit horrifying evidence, from the Department of Post-Mortem Communication of Unseen University, showing the use of whips driving them on. So, not necessarily an inherent evil but a forced one. Slowly through Mr Nutt, orcs are slowly being accepted as proper people.

"No," Mistress Aching said firmly. "Not created, more imagined and believed by accident. I just said people's belief gives a witch power, well the same is true for mythological creature, just because something is mythological it does not mean it's real, people make them real."

Belief is one of the most powerful organic forces in the multiverse. It may not move mountains, but it can create someone who can. It can make gods powerful with so much belief, even the gods believe in gods. But a lack of belief will lead to a small god. Either a god which has yet to become powerful or a god who has lost so much of the belief in it.

Tiffany encountered this right at the beginning of her witch career. The Queen of the Elves, Nightshade tried to attack the Chalk with several monsters at her disposal. The first being Jenny Greenteeth, what Miss Tick calls only a Grade One Prohibitiory Monster, a creature deliberately invented by adults to scare children away from dangerous places.

Grade Two are monsters created to scare anyone away, like the Headless Horsman.

If Tiffany is correct, gremlins merely started out as a creature to fill in the space people would have once used for goblins, and indeed goblins use them as well. Often an excuse when a malfunction happens in machinery, they were not the initial cause, they just explain it as well as anything else might. Enough people, like railwaymen and clacks operators believed in them enough to have them pop into existence.

As she finished Mistress Aching rubbed her chin. "I'm going to need to talk with Miss Tick about this, maybe Sal can help. I don't really want to leave the Chalk, it's my land after all, and right now the boarders of Ingary and Strangia are tense at best, horrific at the worst. And on top of this, you say you encountered one in the Waste?"

"The only one," Sophie said. "Don't tell me you're scared of the Witch of the Waste as well?"

"Not scared, I defeated the Elves ten years ago, I am the successor of Granny Weatherwax and my own Granny Aching. I am the Witch of the Chalk, and that's the problem, I am the only witch of the Chalk, two girls Miss Tick found here, Becky Pardon and Nancy Upright are still training. I'm needed here, I found that out when Granny Weatherwax died and gave her steading to me, that's why I gave it the Geoffrey."

Sophie nodded, she understood, if only she could find something, or someone needing her, being felt wanted, not cast aside and exploited. "I think we'd better go," she said.

"We have to get back," Markl added, with another look to the corner. He quickly collected the seven-league boots from the hedge and set on down outside the gate for Sophie. "And I'm going to hold on to you this time," he said.

Mistress Aching leaned over her gate while Sophie inserted her foot in the boot. "Seven-League boots?" she asked. "Esk told me about those. I take it those are Wilbert's?"

Sophie turned to her. "Do you know everyone with magic?" Mistress Aching smiled and shook her head. "I don't know anyone from Krull, most magic users I know are witches, I have meet Archchancellor Ridcully, Ponder Stibbons, the Librarian and Mr Rincewind. Before you go, can I ask if you know who your family's magic comes from? Martha and Lettie are talented. True it doesn't necessarily run in families, but two sisters have magic, and then to meet…"

Markl took hold of Sophie's arm and pulled. Both boots came down and the rest of Mistress Aching's question vanished in the Zip!

Back at her family gate Tiffany blinked. An annoyed expression filled her face. "That was very rude of Fisher,"

"Aye," said another voice. From the hedge emerged a little blue man, about six inches high, wearing a kilt. "The wee big-job is boggin to get back before hiddlins gets out, you ken how it is?" asked Rob Anybody.

Tiffany sighed. "I suppose Rob," she turned to him. "But I think Sophie needed to know."

"Aye, well, I bet the Carlin will learn she's a hag before long," the Big Man of the local Nac Mac Feegle, looked back to the yard where Howl and Lettie talked. "You still want to keep my and the lads from given yon scunner a good kicking?"

"Yes Rob," Tiffany said exacerbated. "I've already chased You to keep her from doing that. It's a Geas Rob, business between hags, you ken?"

"Aye," Rob grumbled.

* * *

Markl braced his feet to not collide with Sal's cottage.

They opened the door and Calcifer roared at them, "Porthaven door! Someone's been banging on it ever since you left."

* * *

 **The distances between Lancre and the Chalk is a guess based on a fan created map of the Sto Plains, which I used in conjunction with the route map of the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway provided in my paperback of** ** _Raising Steam_** **.**

 **The seven-league boots were one of the things I thought I could use to integrate the stories together as in** ** _The Light Fantastic_** **and** ** _Interesting Times_** **we get, slight contradictory accounts of Unseen University's association with seven-league boots, but the generally details are both the same, what went wrong with them.**

 **Home Farm's appearance is a little mystery to me, but I assumed as Tiffany has (I think) six sisters; Hannah, Fastidia, four older sister, and her brother Wentworth, the house would have to be quite big.**

 **I don't really know if I got Tiffany Aching's character right. But it has been ten years in story from** ** _The Shepherd's Crown_** **people would change in a decade. And of course, I can't have Tiffany Aching without including a cameo from at least one Nac Mac Feegle.**

 **Until next time.**


	10. Chapter 10

After Wilbert dashed upstairs with his boots, Markl hurriedly donned his cloak and opened the Porthaven door.

The sea captain came for his wind spell at last, and not at all pleased for having to wait. "If I miss my tide sir," he said to Markl, "I shall have a word with the Wizard about you. I don't like lazy workers."

Markl, in Sophie's opinion, acted far too polite to him, but she felt too dejected to interfere. When the captain went, Markl returned to the bench to frown over his spell again and Sophie sat silently mending her stockings. She only owned the one pair and her knobby feet wore huge holes in them. Her grey dress by time became frayed and dirty.

"Sophie," Markl said, looking up for his eleventh page of notes, "how many sisters have you?"

"Only Lettie and Martha, I'm the eldest and Martha's the youngest, that's why mother initially sent Martha to Mistress Aching, she thought Martha had the best chance of becoming a witch."

"Martha's too pretty to be witch," Markl said as he tore up the eleventh page and made a twelfth. "I'm glad Howl didn't meet her." He began on his thirteenth page and tore it up too. "I wanted to laugh when Mistress Aching said she knew who Howl was, didn't you?"

"No," said Sophie. It made no difference to Lettie's feelings. She thought of Lettie's bright, friendly face as she sat on the steps of the hut. "I suppose there's no chance," she asked hopelessly, "that Howl could be properly in love this time?"

Calcifer snorted green sparks up the chimney.

"I was afraid you'd start thinking that," Markl said. "But you need to think like Mistress Aching."

"How do you know?" Sophie asked.

Calcifer and Markl exchanged glances. "Did he forget to spend at least an hour in the bathroom this morning?" Markl asked.

"He was in there two hours," said Calcifer, "putting spells on his face. Vain fool!"

"There you are, then," said Markl. "The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he's really in love, and not before."

Sophie thought of Howl on one knee in the orchard, posing to look as handsome as possible, and she knew they said the truth. She thought of going to the bathroom and tipping all Howl's beauty spells down the toilet. But she did not quite dare, she didn't want Howl to have another tantrum.

Markl patter her shoulder kindly as he came to throw all seventeen pages of his notes on to Calcifer. "Everyone gets over things in the end, you know," he said.

By this time, it became clear Markl struggled with his spell. He gave up the notes and scraped some soot off the chimney. Calcifer craned around to watch him in a mystified way. Markl took a withered root from one of the bags hanging on the beams and put it in the soot. Then, after much thought, he put his cloak on, turned the doorknob to the blue setting and vanished for twenty minutes into Porthaven. He came back with a large whorled seashell and put it with the root and the soot. After this, he tore up pages and pages of paper and out those in too. He put the lot in front of the human skull and stood blowing on it, so the soot and bits of paper whirled all over the bench.

"What's he doing, do you think?" Calcifer asked Sophie.

Markl gave up blowing and started mashing everything, paper and all, with the pestle and mortar, looking at the skull expectantly from time to time. Nothing happened. So, he tried different ingredients from bags and jars.

"I feel bad about spying on Howl," he announced as he pounded a third set of ingredients to death in a bowl. "He may be fickle to female, but he's been awfully good to me. He took me in when I was just an unwanted orphan sitting on his doorstep in Porthaven."

"How did that come about?" Sophie asked.

"My Mom died, and Dad got drowned in a storm," Markl said. "And nobody wants you when that happens. I had to leave our house because I couldn't pay rent, and I tried to live in the streets, but people kept turning me off doorsteps and out of boats until the only place I could of to go was somewhere everyone was too scared of to interfere with. Howl had just started in a small way as the Great Wizard Jenkins then. But everyone said his house had demons in it, so I slept on his doorstep for a couple of night until Howl opened the door one morning on his way to, but bread and I fell inside. So, he said I could wait indoors while he got something to eat. I went in, and there was Calcifer, and I started talking to him because I'd never met a demon before. Then Wilbert and Sal arrived through their doors, and Sal, you should have seen the fuse she went through over me."

"What did you and Calcifer talk about?" asked Sophie, wondering if Calcifer asked Markl to break his contract too.

"He told me his troubles and dripped on me. Didn't you?" said Calcifer. "It didn't seem to occur to him that I might have troubles as well."

"I don't think you have. You just grumble a lot," Markl said. "You were quite nice to me that morning, and I think Howl was impressed. But you know how he is. He didn't tell me I could stay. He just didn't tell me to go. So, I started being useful wherever I could, like looking after money so that he didn't spend it all a soon as he'd got it, and so on."

The spell gave a sort of woof and exploded mildly. Markl brushed soot of the skull, sighing, and tried new ingredients.

"I did make lots of stupid mistakes when I first started," Markl went on. "Howl was awfully nice about it. I thought I'd got over that now. And I think I do help with money. Howl buys such expensive clothes. He says no one's going to employ a wizard who looks as if he can't make money at the trade."

Wilbert scoffed as he came down. "Howl hasn't met Igneous Cutwell then," he grabbed a stool and consulted today's edition of the _Ankh-Morpork Times_.

Sophie paused thinking, Igneous is not a usual first name, they only person she could think with such a name would be, "Do you mean the Prince Consort to Queen Keli of Sto Lat?"

"That him," Wilbert confirmed. "He was an Alumnus of Unseen University. He was only wizard of the first level, the highest is eighth, and before you ask, I'm a sixth level wizard, I should be seventh, but the paperwork got lost, Ponder Stibbons and Hex are trying to find it. Igneous still lived like a student, messy and disorganised, even worse than the Castle. If you'd been his cleaning lady Sophie I predict you would have had a fit. It was a series of magical events that propelled him to prominence, even still he had to retire from magic."

"Howl just likes clothes," said Calcifer. His orange eyes watched Sophie meaningfully.

"It isn't just clothes," Markl said. "Remember last winter when we were down to your last log and Howl went off and bought the skull and that stupid harp? I was really annoyed with him. He said they looked good."

"What did you do about the logs?" Sophie asked.

"Howl conjured some from someone who owed him money," Markl said. "At least he said they did and I just hope he was telling the truth. And we ate seaweed. Howl says it's good for you."

"Nice stuff," murmured Calcifer. "Dry and crackly."

"I hate it," said Markl, staring abstractedly at his bowl of pounded stuff. "I don't know, there should be seven ingredients, unless it's seven processes, but let's try it in an octagram anyway." He put the bowl on the floor and chalked a sort of eight-pointed star around it.

The powder exploded with a force which blew Sophie and Wilbert off their chairs and Wilbert's newspaper into the hearth. Markl swore and hurriedly rubbed out the chalk marks.

"Sophie," he said, "I'm stuck on this spell. You don't think you could possibly help me, do you?"

Just like someone bringing their homework to their granny, Sophie thought. Wilbert past her and pulled copy of the _Times_. Sophie looked from Wilbert to Markl. "Surely a wizard would be more suitable for this?"

Wilbert shook his head. "I've got no idea of the teaching curriculum in the Royal Sorcery Academy of Ingary, and ever since the Dean left UU for Brazeneck University it's been regulation that no member of Unseen University may help a wizard of another wizarding institution. Helping Howl's apprentice would probably fall into this."

"Who'd find out?" Sophie asked.

"I'd have to tell them, I'm try to be as honest as possible."

Sophie sighed. "Let's have a look," she said cautiously. "I don't know anything about magic, you know.", well, not much, after what Mistress Aching said, anyway.

Markl eagerly thrust a strange, slightly shiny paper into her hand. It looked unusual, even for a spell. Printed in bold letters, but slightly grey and blurred, and with grey blurs, like retreating storm clouds, around all the edges. "See what you think," said Markl.

Sophie read:

 _"Go and catch a falling star._

 _Get with a child a mandrake root._

 _Tell me where all past years are._

 _Or who cleft the Devil's foot._

 _Teach me to hear the sea nymphs singing,_

 _Or to keep off envy's stinging,_

 _And find_

 _What wind,_

 _Serves to advance and honest mind._

Decide what this means

Write a second verse yourself."

It puzzled Sophie exceedingly. Not like any of the spells she snooped at before. She ploughed through it twice, not really helped by Markl eagerly explaining as she tried to read. "You know Howl told me that advanced spells a puzzle in them? Well, I decided at first that every line was meant to be a puzzle. I used soot with sparks in it for the falling star and a seashell for the sea nymphs singing. And I thought I might count as a child, so I got a mandrake root down, and I wrote out lists of past years from the almanacs, but I wasn't sure about that… maybe that's where I went wrong… and could the thing that stops stinging be dock leaf? I hadn't thought of that before… anyway, none of it works!"

"I'm not surprised," said Sophie. "It looks to me like a set of impossible things to do."

Wilbert hummed and nodded. "I've never been a fan of poetry."

But Markl would not having it. If the things were impossible, he pointed out reasonably, no one would ever be able to do the spell. "And," he added, "I'm so ashamed of spying on Howl that I want to make up for it by getting this spell right."

"Very well," said Sophie. "Let's start with 'Decide what this is about.' That ought to start things moving, if deciding is part of the spell anyway."

But Markl would not accept this either. "No," he said. "It's the sort of spell that reveals itself as you do it. That's what the last line means. When you write the second half, saying what the spell means, that makes it work. Those kinds are very advanced. We have to crack the first bit first."

"Let's ask Calcifer," she suggested. "Calcifer, who…"

Yet another thing Markl did not let her do.

"No, be quiet. I think Calcifer's part of the spell. Look at the way it says, 'Tell me' and 'Teach me'. I thought at first it meant teach the skull, but that didn't work, so it must be Calcifer."

"You can do it by yourself, it your sit on everything I have to say!" Sophie said. "Anyway, surely Calcifer must know who cleft his own foot!"

Calcifer flared up at this. "I'm a demon, not the Devil." Saying which, he retreated right under his logs, where he could be heard chinking about, muttering "Lot of nonsense!" all the rest of the time Sophie and Markl discussed the spell.

Wilbert shook his head and left through the Ankh-Morpork door.

But then, the puzzle got a grip on Sophie. She fetched a pen and paper and started making notes in the same sort of quantities Markl did earlier. For the rest of the day she and Markl sat staring into the distance, nibbling quills and throwing out suggestion at each other.

An average page of Sophie's note read:

 _Does garlic keep off envy? I could cut a star out of paper and drop it. Could we tell it to Howl? Howl would like sea nymphs better than Calcifer. Do not think Howl's mind honest. Is Calcifer's? Where_ _are_ _past years anyway? Does it mean one of those dry roots must bear fruit? Plant it? Next to dock leaf? In seashell? Cloven hoof, most things but horses. Shoe a horse with a clove of garlic? Wind? Smell? Wind of seven-league boots? Is Howl a devil? Cloven toes in seven-league boots? Sea nymphs in boots?_

As Sophie wrote this, Markl asked equally desperate, "Could the 'wind' be some sort of pulley? And honest man being hanged? That's black magic, though."

"Let's have supper," said Sophie.

They ate bread and cheese, still staring into distance. At last Sophie said, "Markl, for goodness' sake, let's give up on guessing and try doing what it says. Where's the best place to catch a shooting star? Out on the hills?"

Markl nodded. "What I know of Enlightenment Country, it's our best bet. Can we? Shooting stars go awfully fast."

"So? We can, in seven-league boots," Sophie pointed out. Markl sprang up, full of relief and delight. "I think you've got it!" he said, scrambling up the stairs to where Wilbert put his boats. "Let's go and try."

This time Sophie prudently took her stick and her shawl since it would be dark by now. Markl turned the knob to green when two strange things happened. On the bench the teeth of the skull started clattering. And Calcifer blazed right up the chimney. "I don't want you to go!" he said.

"We'll be back soon," Markl said soothingly.

They went out into the snowy fields of Enlightenment Country, so called as a majority of sacred and mysterious monastic orders lived in the region. The Listening Monks, who are trained to have near-perfect hearing, which they use to try to discern the faint echoes of the first sounds of the universe. The Brothers of Cool, a reserved and secretive sect which believes only through ultimate coolness can the universe be comprehended, and the fact black works with everything, and chrome will never truly go out of style. The Balancing Monks test the tension of the world and restore its equilibrium by placing small brass weights on places like mountains and islets. So far, the world has not tipped over. The Yen Buddhists, possibly the richest sect in the world. They believe large amounts of money are evil, so they collect as much money as possible to protect innocents from its horrible corrupting power. And the most secretive of them all. The Fighting Monks of the Order of Wen, commonly referred to as the History Monks.

In the bright, balmy night, Markl remembered Sophie's illness in the morning and began to worry about the effects of cold night air on her health. Sophie told him not to be silly. She stumped gamely along with her stick until they reach a nearby field of the valley and the night became wide, damp and chilly. The fields smelled of salt and earth. The lake glittered and softly swished to the rear. Sophie could feel more than see, the miles and miles of flatness stretching away in front of them. What she could see were bands of low bluish mist and pale glimmers of small lakes repeatedly, until they built into pale line where the sky started. The sky went everywhere else, huger still. Over it the dance of light, like phoenix fire, known as the Aurora Coriolis. And the keen stars twinkled through it.

Markl and Sophie stood, each with a boot ready on the ground in front of them, waiting for one of the stars to move.

After about an hour Sophie pretended not to shiver, for fear of worrying Markl.

Half an hour later Markl said, "May is not the right time of year. August or Ember is best."

Half an hour after the first exchange, he said in a worried way, "What do we do about the mandrake root?"

"Let's see to this part before we worry about that," Sophie said, biting her teeth together while spoke, for fear they would chatter.

Sometime later Markl said, "You go home, Sophie. It's my spell, after all."

Sophie opened her mouth to say it would be a good idea, when one of the stars came unstuck from the firmament and darted in a white streak down the sky.

"There's one!" Sophie shrieked instead.

Markl thumped his foot into his boot and went off. Sophie braced herself with her stick and started off a second later. Zip! Squash. Down far out in the marshes with mist and emptiness and dull-glimmering pools in all directions. Sophie stabbed her stick into the ground and managed to stand still.

Markl's boot looked like a dark blot standing beside her. Markl himself, a sploshing sound of madly running feet somewhere ahead.

And there came the falling star. Sophie could see it, a little white descending flame shape a few yards beyond, the dark movements decide it were Markl. The bright shape came down slowly now, and it looked as if Markl might catch it.

Sophie dragged her show out of the boot. "Come on stick!" she crowed. "Get me there!" And she set off at top hobble, leaping across tussocks and staggering through pools, with her eyes on the little white light.

By the time she caught up, Markl stalked the star with soft steps, both arms out to catch it. Sophie could see him outlined against the star's light. The star drifted to level with Markl's hand and only a step or so beyond. It looked back nervously. How odd! Sophie thought. It looked like a child's stick drawing of a man, made of light and shadows, it lit up a white ring of grass and reeds and black pools around Markl, and yet, big anxious eyes peered backwards at Mark, with a pointed halo of rainbow lights around its face.

Sophie's arrival frightened it. I gave an erratic swoop and cried out in a shrill, crackling voice, "What is it? What do you want?"

Sophie tried to say to Markl, 'Do stop, it's terrified!' But she breathless from all her running she could speak.

"I only want to catch you," Markl explained. "I won't hurt you."

"No! No!" the star crackled desperately. "That's wrong! I'm supposed to die!"

"But I could save you if you'd let me catch you," Markl told it gently.

"No!" cried the star. "I'd rather die!" It dived away from Markl's fingers. Markl plunged for it, but it proved too quick for him. It swooped from the nearest pool, and the black water leaped into a blaze of whiteness for just an instant. Then there remained a small, dying sizzle. When Sophie hobbled over, Markl stood watching the last light fade out of a little round lump under the dark water.

"That was sad," Sophie said.

Markl sighed. "Yes. My heart sort of went out to it. Let's go home. I'm sick of this spell."

It took them twenty minutes to find the boots. Sophie thought it a miracle they found them at all.

"You know," Markl said, as they trudged dejectedly back to the Castle door, "I can tell I'll never be able to door this spell. It's too advanced for me. I'll have to ask Master Howl. I hate giving in."

When the opened the door, they found several pairs of eyes looking at them. Wilbert and Sal, plus a human man, of Wilbert size and build, in a polished suit of armour, a dwarf in slightly battered armour, wearing a pair of tartan trousers the same pattern as Wilbert's coat. And finally, under to table an ashen blonde and quite beautiful dog starred at them, rather wolf-like.

Markl quickly rushed back upstairs. Sophie looked from the retreating apprentice to the seven-league boot he left in his place, and then to the guests. The armoured man turned back from the stairs to Wilbert. "Who was that boy Wilbert?"

"That was Markl Captain," Wilbert said focusing on the boots and he did not look happy. He got up and trudged over to get a closer look. "What have been doing to my Great-uncle's boots? They're practically antique you know," he paused, and his expression darkened. "Something about that," his grumbled with an eyebrow twitch, "spell, isn't it?"

Sophie became very sheepish and explained. Wilbert turned even more irate. "You tried to do what?" he exclaimed. "You'll get an earful from Howl I expect."

"Excuse me Wilbert?" the dwarf asked. "But does that mean there are more people living here than just you and Sal?"

Wilbert looked to Sal and then to Calcifer hiding in the logs, both shrugged, but Sal gave a small nod. The Vice-Chancellor sighed. "I had a feeling this would come up," he worked past Sophie and shut the door. He turned it to the Ankh-Morpork door and opened it.

The dog under the table whined and held its nose. The Captain stroked it reassuringly.

Wilbert explained about the portals. Working through from Mad Stoat to the doors in Ingary. The Captain narrowed his eyes. "So, we're not really in Ankh-Morpork?"

"No," Wilbert said taking the boot from Sophie and putting the pair by the door, he muttered to her, "I expect you and Markl to clean these thoroughly." He walked up the steps and returned to his seat. "The inside of Howl's Moving Castle is technically my property, it's the house I bought while in Fourecks for that search and update on Gravid Rust and the one-to-one meeting with Archchancellor Bill Rincewind. I like the amount of space it came with, so I transported it initially to be the inside of Number Seven, the magic's a little hard to explain, I'll tell you later. But when Howl messaged me about the idea of his Castle I offered him the inside in a form of joint ownership, of course interpreted it to mean he could add in so many additions and changes."

The dwarf, who Sophie could only assume to be Jumpy Jumpylund, Wilbert's dwarfish Blood brother, looked at the fire with some trepidation.

The Captain nodded. "If one door goes to Mad Stoat, then could me and Angua use it to go and meet my parents? I haven't seen them since the Koom Valley talks."

Sal coughed and softly spoke, "Yes, you can, your father keeps on asking me about you," the Captain smiled. "We can talk about that later. But for now," he leaned closer to the two of them. "We were hoping you two could act as a groomsman and bridesmaid,"

Both Wilbert and Sal flinched. Wilbert spoke first. "Why us two? Compared to Mister Vimes, Captain von Humpeding, Detritus, Cheri, Fred, Nobby, the Librarian, Jolson" he considered for a moment, "Reg Shoe and Visit…"

The Captain held up his hand. "Most of them are already taking part. Angua's chosen Cheri as the Maid of Honour. I promised the Librarian he'd be the Best Man, well Ape. Anyway, Grag Bashfullsson is going to preside the ceremony, Jumpy is going to be his second, and when he mentioned you being his Blood brother, well Bashfull thought it would be appropriate."

Sal leaned down under the chair and scratched the dog's ear. "I take it Mister Vimes is going to give Captain Angua away?" the dog gave an agreeing whine and Captain Carrot nodded. "Having met her parents, I can tell they would not approve."

Sophie decided to start on the cleaning the boots and overhear the conversation. This wedding sounded interesting.

* * *

 **In the original book the poem had mermaids. Now Fred Colon as once or twice mentioned a storybook about a boy who become mermen, I seem to remember that in** ** _Reaper Man_** **when Windle Poons tries not to cross over running water, but because of the nature of the River Ankh by the time it reaches Ankh-Morpork to quote the books, 'it can only be called a river because it moves faster than the banks' he fails.**

 **On a side note while Sir Terry must have written the reason for Fred guarding the Brass Bridge as a joke and to show case Fred's cowardice. But, in the Czech Republic metal thieves stole a ten-tonne footbridge. www. telegraph co. uk/ news/ newstopics/ howaboutthat/ 9235705/ Czech-metal-thieves-dismantle-10-ton-bridge**

 **So, given the nature of the Ankh-Morpork citizenry it could very well happen someday.**

 **But back to mermaids, given they apparently only exist in the (rather second-hand) universe of the Discworld as fictional beings I instead exchanged them with Sea Nymphs, or Oceanids. As in** ** _The Colour of Magic_** **we saw Dryads, and in** ** _Unseen Academicals_** **we got a joke referring to Naiads, so likely they exist too, why not Oceanids?**

 **What do you think reader?**

 **And now onto what I hope will be something well received, news of the wedding.**

 **Well Sir Terry in the Guardian Book Club for** ** _Unseen Academicals_** **in 2009, "It's really about time that Carrot and Angua got married," www. youtube watch?v=_HpwYCHGyms Around the 39:40 mark. And according to the artists notes under this artwork of the couple: jesidres. deviantart art/For-Mr-Pratchett-22978927 Sir Terry did indicate there would be pups in their future.**

 **I don't plan on writing the wedding, I don't have much experience at weddings, I just wanted to make sure it got out there.**

 **See you soon my friends.**


	11. Chapter 11

Howl must have come back while Sophie and Markl were out. He came out of the bathroom while Sophie fried breakfast on Calcifer and sat gracefully in the chair, groomed, glowing and smelling of honeysuckle.

"Dear Sophie," he said. "Always busy. You were hard at work yesterday, weren't you, despite my advice? I can make you a pair of seven-league boots of your own if you give me your size. Something practical in brown calf perhaps. It's amazing the way one can take a step of twenty-one miles and still land in something's leavings."

"I daresay," said Sophie. "You found mud from the lake marshes on them too. A person my age needs a lot of exercises."

"You were even busier than I realised, then," said Howl. "Because when I happened to tear my eyes from Lettie's lovely face for an instant yesterday, I could have sworn I saw your long nose poking around the corner of the house."

Sophie did her best not to stare at her own noise. "Mistress Aching is a family friend," said Sophie. "How was I to know you would be there too?"

"You have an instinct, Sophie, that's how," said Howl. "Nothing is safe from you. If I were to court a girl who lived on an iceberg in the middle of an ocean, sooner or later, probably sooner, I'd look up to see you swooping overhead on a broomstick. In fact, by now I'd be disappointed in you if I didn't see you."

"Are you off to the iceberg today?" Sophie retorted. "From the look on Lettie's face yesterday, there's nothing that need keep you there!"

"You wrong me, Sophie," Howl said. He sounded deeply injured. Sophie looked suspiciously sideways. Beyond the jewel swinging in Howl's ear, his profile looked sad and noble. "Long years will pass before I leave the girl for me," he said. "And in fact, I'm off to see the King of Lancre again. Satisfied Mrs Nose?"

Sophie did not feel sure if she believed a word of this, though it certainly went to Lancre, with the door turned to Mad Stoat as both Howl and Sal left. Sal needed to visit Copperhead to inform its king, who she explained is more of a Head Engineer than a king, just a part of dwarfish culture, about the arrangements of the wedding. Howl waved Markl aside when Markl tried to consult him about the perplexing spell. Markl, with nothing to do, left too. He said he might as well go to Cesari's.

Wilbert however stopped him before he could borrow the seven-league boots again. Instead Wilbert set up a transport spell. First writing another diagram on the floor. The spell required an exchange of matter in roughly equal weight. Using a broken crystal ball, he managed to find a discarded pile of brinks in an alleyway of Market Chipping, he gave the other piece of the crystal ball to Markl, so he could communicate with the Castle if need be and swapped them. Sophie hoped the spell caused an illusion, because she never wanted to see little Markl stretched like a rubber band to exactly twelve feet, before a portal opened and sucked him up with a twang.

Wilbert then went upstairs to do some other work. An experiment, Cable Street work or preparations for the wedding he didn't say.

Sophie became left alone in the living room. She still did not truly believe what Howl said about Lettie, but she did get disproven about him before, and she only processed Markl and Calcifer's word for Howl's behaviour after all. Maybe she should ask Wilbert and Sal to verify it.

When someone knocked at the door, she started violently, thinking it might be the gremlin again.

"Porthaven door," Calcifer said, flickering a grin at her.

It should be all right then. Sophie hobbled over and opened it. A cart horse stood outside. The young fellow of fifty who lead it wondered if Mrs Witch processed something which might stop it casting shoes all the time.

"I'll see," said Sophie. She hobbled over to the grate. "What shall I do?" she whispered.

"Yellow powder, fourth jar along on the second shelf," Calcifer whispered back. "Those spells are mostly belief. Don't look uncertain when you give it to him."

Very much like what Mistress Aching explained about witchcraft. So, Sophie poured yellow powder into a square of paper as she saw Markl do, twisted it smartly and hobbled to the door with it. "There you are, my boy," she said. "That'll stick the shoes on harder than any hundred nails. Do you hear me horse? You won't need a smith for the next year. That'll be a penny, thank you."

Almost as soon as Sophie closed the door, another set of knocks beat on it.

"It's the Ankh-Morpork door," Calcifer called.

At this time in the morning, Sophie thought, it must Mr Soak.

When she opened the door, a cheery voice answered. "Morning miss," Sophie peered out the door to see a hygienic white cart with milk churns, and the words,

Ronald Soak, Hygienic Dairyman. Established.

Written on the side. The horse stood waiting. A polished black, however it shone as if illuminated by a red light, and the light bounced off it. Indeed, it didn't look like any type of horse meant to pull a wagon.

Sophie turned to the beaming face as the peak capped man carried pair of milk bottles. Quite a short man too, so his standard issue blue and white striped apron almost reached the floor. "Mr Weatherwax explained about the new cleaning lady, nice to meet you, so that's five pints, one for each human," Sophie blinked, he knew about Calcifer?

"And would you care for some yogurt? Mr Weatherwax is partial to Howondaland Vanilla, I've got other flavours too,"

Sophie looked at him with a curious eye. "Established when?" Ronnie Soak's face dropped. He coughed and chuckled awkwardly. "No one's ever asked that before," he tugged at his collar.

Then Sophie saw his eyes. Black. Completely black, no whites at all and as polished as the obsidian coat of the horse.

Soak turned to look down the street. "I've got time before I need to deliver to Mrs Cake," he took his peaked cap off. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Sophie went back up the stairs.

Calcifer called over worried, "Sophie? You don't know who you're letting in!"

Soak looked to him. "Belt up fire demon. I'm not one of the Witch of the Waste's minions, I can be worse,"

Sophie gulped. "You're not a Grade something monster or something?"

"I'm more the something. The term I think would be Anthropomorphic Personification. You know? Death, War, the Sandman, the Hogfather."

"I know of them," Sophie suggested, but she felt silly for saying it. But gremlins exist, so maybe those Soak just listed do too.

"I'm an old friend of Death, War, Famine and Pestilence, the Four Horsemen, I'm the Fifth, being a milkman's just my day job, not much call for me everywhere and every day. Although from what Death and War are telling me, things are heating up Ingary," he waved his hand. "But you probably know about that already."

"Yes," Sophie grumbled. "So, who are you?"

Soak held out his hand, a small lightning cloud formed in it, sparks jumped before it modelled into a helmet, the eyeholes looked slightly like the wings of a butterfly and rather more like the eyes of some strange, alien creature. "Ever heard of the butterfly effect miss?"

"Yes," Sophie nodded. "It's a chaos theory," Soak smirked. "There you go, figured it out for yourself,"

Sophie backed up to a wall. "Your, you're Chaos?"

"That's right, at first it was Kaos, with a capital K, but the other lads had artistic differences and I left for a few millennia, I re-joined back in 1990. But chaos happens randomly nowadays," he put his hat back on. "I think we'll be seeing each other again soon. Have a nice day," and he left.

What a strange person, Sophie thought. Still, a nice fellow.

It turned into quite a busy day. Sophie need to put down her sewing and cleaning to sell, with Calcifer's help, a spell to unblock drains, another to fetch goats, and something to make good beer. The only one to give trouble came from a customer who pounded on the door in Kingsbury. Sophie opened it to find a richly dressed boy not much older than Markl, white-faced and sweating, wringing his hands on the doorstep.

"Madam Sorceress, for pity's sake!" he said. "I have to fight a duel at dawn tomorrow. Give me something to make sure I win. I'll pay any sum you ask!"

Sophie looked over her shoulder at Calcifer, and Calcifer made faces back, meaning nothing readymade currently resided in the Castle. "That wouldn't be right at all," Sophie told the boy severely. "Besides, duelling is wrong."

"Then just give me something that lets me have a fair chance!" the lad said desperately.

Sophie looked at him. Very undersized and clearly in a great state of fear. He possessed the hopeless look a person has who always loses at everything. "I'll see what I can do," Sophie said. She hobbled over to the shelves and scanned the jars. The red on labelled CAYENNE looked the most likely. Sophie poured a generous heap of it on a square of paper. She stood the human skull beside it. "Because you must know more about this than I do," she muttered at it. The young man leaned anxiously around the door to watch. Sophie took up a knife and made what she hoped would look like mystic passes over the heap of pepper. "You are to make it a fair fight," she mumbled. "A fair fight. Understand?" She screwed the paper up and hobbled to the door with it. "Throw this in the air when the duel starts," she told the undersized you man, "and it will give you the same chance as the other man. After that, whether you win or not depends on you."

The undersized young became so grateful he tried to give her a gold piece. Sophie refused to take it, so he gave her a two-penny but instead and went away whistling happily.

Sophie shut the door despondent and went to the chair. The door opened behind her.

"Are you all right Sophie?" Sal said shutting the door.

"I feel a fraud," Sophie said as she stowed the money under the hearthstone. She explained what happened.

Sal gave a friendly humming sigh and took a chair to sit next to her. "You've just performed a real piece of witchcraft Sophie, that is was proper Headology," Sophie looked at Sal, she heard Headology once before, Martha mentioned it on the May Day this all started. "What is Headology?" Sal giggled and explained.

Headology is like psychology, but many witches think "psychology" is a bad word, or it means "having a psychological problem". The practice of Headology relies on the principle of what people believe is what is real. Witches use this to earn respect or at least fear, and to cure patients. The power of Headology is not to be underestimated. Clearly, the way a person sees himself and the surrounding world forms the person's reality. If this view is changed effectively using Headology then this person's reality changes. This allows witches to make people think they are frogs, for example, which is easier, cleaner, safer and a lot more fun than literary turning them into a frog. Witches generally think Headology is a more powerful style of magic than any of the fancy stuff wizards use. Headology is what witching is all about. A witch needs a very powerful, focused, and trained mind to use Headology. Granny Weatherwax was the foremost practitioner of Headology on Discworld.

This softened Sophie a little. "I would like to be there at that fight!"

"So, would I!" crackled Calcifer, causing Sal to flinch. "When are you going to release me so that I can go and see things like that?"

"When I've got even a hint about this contract," Sophie said.

"You may get one later today," said Calcifer.

Markl must have called Wilbert towards the end of the afternoon because he suddenly came running down the stair. He took an anxious look around to make sure he arrived before Howl, and went to the bench, where he got things out to make it look as if he had been busy, singing cheerfully while he did.

"I envy you being able to travel all that way so easily," Sophie said sewing a blue triangle to silver braid. "How was Martha?"

Markl gladly left the workbench and sat on the stool by the hearth to tell her all about his day. Then he asked about Sophie's. The result of this came about when Howl shouldered the door open with his arms full of parcels, Markl did not even look busy. He rolled around on the stool laughing at the duel spell.

Howl back into the door to shut it and leaned there in a tragic attitude. "Look at you all!" he said. "Ruin stares me in the face. I slave all day for you all. And not one of you, even Calcifer, can spare me time to say hello!"

Markl sprang up guiltily and Calcifer said, "I never do say hello."

Wilbert came down the stairs. "Evening Howl,"

"Is something wrong?" asked Sophie.

"That's better," said Howl. "Some of you are pretending to notice me at last. How kind of you to ask, Sophie. Yes, something is wrong. King Verence has officially advised me to find Prince Justin and Wizard Suliman, to help the international situation, with a strong hint that destroying the Witch of the Waste would come in handy too, and you all sit there and laugh!"

Clearly by Howl's mood right now, he would produce green smile any second. Sophie hurriedly put her sewing away. "I'll make some hot buttered toast," she said.

"Is that all you can do in the face of tragedy?" Howl asked. "Make toast! No, don't get up. I've trudged here laden with stuff for you, so the least you can do is show polite interest. Here." He tipped a shower of parcels into Sophie's lap and handed another to Markl, a couple to Sal and Wilbert.

Mystified, Sophie unwrapped things: several pairs of silk stockings; two parcels of the finest cambric petticoats, with flounces, lace and satin insets; a pair elastic-sided boots in dove grey suede; a lace shawl; and a dress of grey watered silk trimmed with lace matching the shawl. Sophie took one professional look at each and gasped. The lace alone must have worth a fortune. She stroked the silk of the dress, awed.

Wilbert held the jacket of the new red three piece suit up against himself, the stitching took his interest. After a moment or two he concluded, "This is Sto Helit made. I can only assume the dresses are from Bilberry's Emporium, and are the suits from Rex Tailors?"

Markl unwrapped a handsome new velvet suit. "You must have spent every bit that was in your silk purse!" he said ungratefully. "I don't need this."

"How selfless I am," Howl said. "We can't attend the wedding of Captain Carrot Ironfounderson and Captain Delphine Angua von Überwald in rags. What would the people of Ankh-Morpork think?"

Wilbert and Sal looked at each other. Sal turned back to Howl. "The wedding's not for months, a fortnight after the Eve of Small Gods. And we were planning on wearing our Watch uniform," she put her box down without opening it. "And I have fine clothes already Howl."

Howl tilted his head. "I've only ever seen you in that black dress."

"This is just my witch attire." She got up. "Just to show you what finery I do have, Wilbert?" her fiancé put the jacket down and stepped beside her. With a flourish of his hands he magical unveiled a curtain to cover Sal. Behind it came the sound of buttons being undone and the rustling of material. Wilbert looked over and grinned with happiness, pride and a hint of smugness. Sal gave an approving hum and Wilbert let the curtain disappear.

Everyone stared.

Sophie already knew about the ankle high boats and the fishnet stockings, but above them?

Instead of a dress she wore a leotard, allowing her shapely leg to be fully displayed. Her wide hips and short waist curved gracefully up. From her waist Sal wore a suit like Wilbert's. She looked like a magician's assistant. And certain assets made her look a little top-heavy. So distracting Sophie almost failed to notice again how she carried something in her inside top pocket.

Sophie's sarcastic second thoughts joked. Those would certainly help in misdirection. The rest of Sophie's mind added to it. With a face and figure you can't look away from it's amazing anyone could do anything in her presence. An entire religion could very well start with Sal as the goddess.

Sal put her hands on her hips. "The only reasons I wear that baggy dress over my clothes is firstly, so the people of my Steading are not distracted by my figure while I'm doing witch business. I mean, I can't have the woman of the village all jealous of me and all the uh, all the boys ogling me, can I? But also, I can carry supplies in the pockets," she put her dress back on and it hide her figure, her proportions went out of alignment and the effect wore away.

Howl blinked and shook his head. He turned to Sophie. "Well, Sophie? Are the boots the right size?"

Sophie looked away from Sal and her continuous awed stroking of the silk. "Are you being kind," she said, "or cowardly?"

"What ingratitude!" Howl exclaimed, spreading out both arms. "Let's have green slime again! After which I shall be forced to move the Castle a thousand miles away and never see Lettie again!"

Markl looked at Sophie imploringly.

But Wilbert answered their prayers. He took Howl's arms and pulled them behind his back. "First off, no green smile. I'm not having Things from the Dungeon Dimensions enter what is still my house!" he sighed and let Howl's arms go. "It's not that we're ungrateful, but perhaps you should have discussed it with us first, but given you went through the effort I'll ask the Captains if we can add you, Sophie and Markl to the guest list,"

"What about me!" Calcifer called. Wilbert turned to him unsure. "That remains to be seen." Howl then looked to Wilbert and Sal and asked them about the current details about the wedding and suggested things to consider.

Markl meanwhile hovered at Howl's elbow, trying to ask him about the perplexing spell. Howl kept on waving him away while he talked with Wilbert and Sal, or more correctly, he talked while Wilbert and Sal listened, and both trying to get a word in.

When Howl finished his say he at last turned to Markl. "Right Markl. Your turn now. What is it?"

Markl waved the shiny grey paper and explained in an unhappy rush how impossible the spell seemed to be.

Howl seemed faintly astonished to hear this, but he took the paper, saying, "Now, where was your problem?" and spread it out. He stared at it. One of his eyebrows shot up.

"I tried it as a puzzle," Markl explained. "And I tried doing it just as it says. But Sophie and I couldn't catch the falling star…"

"Great gods above!" Howl exclaimed. He started to laugh and bit his lip to stop himself. "But, Markl, this isn't the spell I left you. Where did you find it?"

"On the bench, in that heap of things Sophie piled around the skull," said Markl. "It was the only new spell there, so I thought…"

Howl leaped up and sorted among the things on the bench. "Sophie strike again," he said. Things skidded right and left as he searched. "I might have known! No, the proper spell's not here." He tapped the skull thoughtfully on its brown, shiny dome. "Your doing, friend? I have notion you come from there. I'm sure the guitar does. Sophie dear…"

"What?" asked Sophie.

"Busy old fool, unruly Sophie," said Howl. "Am I right in thinking that you turned my doorknob to the black setting and stuck your long nose out through it?"

"Just my finger," Sophie said with dignity.

"But you opened the door," Howl said slowly his eyes narrowing in thought. "And the thing Markl thinks is a spell must have got through. Didn't it occur to either of you that it doesn't look like spells usually do?"

"Spells often look peculiar," Markl said in defence. "Wilbert was here when Sophie read it out."

Wilbert spoke up, "I did say try and tell it wasn't a spell," he then muttered. "Some people just don't take the hint."

"What is it really?" Markl asked. Wilbert rolled his eyes. "See?"

Howl gave a snort of laughter. "Decide what this is about. Write a second verse! Oh, Efnysien!" he said and ran for the stairs. "I'll show you," he called as his feet pounded up them.

"I think we wasted our time rushing around the marshes last night," Sophie said. Markl nodded gloomily. Sophie could she he felt a fool. "It was my fault," she said. "I opened the door."

"What was outside?" Markl asked with great interest.

Sal meanwhile looked at Wilbert. "Weird exclamation?" she said.

"Efnysien?" Wilbert repeated then leaned back in thought. "I think Howl told me about him once. An ancient Hero, caused trouble, lead to a war, he destroyed some magical artefact sacrificing himself."

Howl came charging downstairs just then. "I haven't got that book after all," he said. He seemed upset now. "Markl, did I hear you say you went out and tried to catch a shooting star?"

"Yes," Markl said. "But it was scared stiff and fell in a pool and drowned,"

"Thank goodness for that!" said Howl.

"It was very sad," Sophie said.

"Sad, was it?" said Howl, more upset than ever. "It was your idea, was it? It would be! I can just see you hopping about the marches, encouraging him! Let me tell you, that was the most stupid thing he's ever done in his life. He'd have been more than sad if he'd chanced to catch the thing! And you…"

Calcifer flickered sleepily up the chimney. "What's all the fuss about?" he demanded. "You caught one yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes, and I…" Howl began, turning his glass-marble glare on Calcifer. But he pulled himself together and turned to Markl instead. "Markl, promise me you'll never try to catch on again."

"I promise," Markl said willingly. "What is that writing, if it's not a spell?"

Howl looked at the grey paper in his hand. "It's called 'Song', and that's what it is, I suppose. But it's not all here and I can't remember the rest of it." He stood thought, as if a new idea stuck him, one which obviously worried him. "I think the next verse was important," he said. "I'd better take it back and see…" He went to the door and turned the knob to the black. Then he paused. He looked around at Markl and Sophie, who naturally enough, both stared at the knob. "All right," he said. "I know Sophie will squirm through to somehow if I leave her behind, and that's not fair to Markl. Come along, both of you, so I've got you where I can keep my eye on you."

He opened the door on the nothingness and walked into it. Markl fell over the stool in his rush to follow. Sophie shed parcels right and left beside the hearth as she sprang up too. "Don't let any sparks get on those!" she said hurriedly to Calcifer.

"If you promise to tell me what's out there," Calcifer said. "You had your hint by the way."

"Did I?" said Sophie, in too much of a hurry to attend.

* * *

 **Ronnie Soak has become a minor favourite of mine after listening to the audiobook of** ** _Thief of Time_** **.**

 **It's kind of obvious that Sal's under-costume is based on Zatanna. I have Sal Double Subverting and exaggerating the Hot Witch trope. Covered up she's a Special Average beauty, uncovered, you might say, she's a Divine Level Beauty.**

 **Bye for now.**


	12. Chapter 12

Despite seeing Howl disappear a fair distance into the black nothingness on a few occasions, right then and there, the nothing extended to only about an inch of thickness. Beyond it, in a grey drizzling evening, a cement path down to a garden gate. Howl and Markl waited at said gate. Beyond it a flat, hard-looking road lined with houses on both side. Sophie looked back at where she came from, shivering rather in the drizzle, and found the exterior here to be a house of yellow brick large windows. Like all the other houses, square and new, with a front door of wobbly glass. Nobody seemed to be about among the houses. This may have been due to the drizzle, but Sophie felt more because, in spite the being so many houses, this happened to be somewhere at the edge of a town. One of those newly built railway or industrial housing development.

"When you've quite finished nosing," Howl called. He dangled a bunch of strange keys, most of them flat and yellow and seemed to match the house, he worked his way through them to find one specifically before leading the way back up the path towards the yellow house. He unlocked the wavy-glass door with the key. Sophie saw the wooden notice hanging beside it on chains. _Rivendell_ , Sophie read, as Howl pushed her into a neat, shiny hall space. There seemed to be people un the house, Sophie could tell a house lived in, it could look immaculate, and who ever owned and maintained this one did a better job than Howl in the Castle, but somewhere would be at least one odd things, possibly out of place.

Howl opened the nearest door.

"Howell!" exclaimed a woman sitting inside the room knitting. She down her knitting, looking a little annoyed, but before she could get up, a small girl, who previous sat in the corner reading a picture book very seriously with her chin in her hands, leaped up and flung herself at Howl. "Uncle Howell!" she screamed and jumped halfway up Howl with her legs wrapped around him.

"Mari!" Howl bawled in reply. "How are you, cariad? Been a good girl, then?" He and the little girl broke into a different language, fast and loud, but some words Sophie recognised, especially the use of the uvula, making it sound as if either of them would either spit or cough up Phlegm mucus any minute. She suspected she knew where they ended up, but she wouldn't ask right now, not in front of presumably Howl's family.

In between the burst of foreign chatter, Howl managed to say, as if he knew ventriloquism, "This is my nice, Mari, and my sister, Megan Parry, Megan, this is Markl Fisher and Sophie, uh…"

"Hatter," said Sophie.

Megan shook hands with both in a restrained disapproving way. She looked older than Howl, but quite like him, the same long angular face, he possessed darker blue eyes and full of anxieties, and her dark hair confirmed, to Sophie at least, Howl's dark hair must have his original, and it much suited both. "Quiet now, Mari!" she said in a voice cutting through the foreign chatter. "Howell, are you staying long?"

"Just dropping for a moment," Howl said, lowering Mari to the floor.

"Gareth isn't in yet," Megan said in a meaning sort of way.

"What a pity! We can't stay," Howl said, smiling a warm, false smile. "I just thought I'd introduce you to my friends here." Howl then talked talking to Megan in the strange language. Megan looked at Sophie again even more unsure, she moved closer to Mari.

"And," Howl added, "I want to ask something that may sound silly. Has Neil by any chance lost a piece of Morpork Lit homework lately?"

"Funny you should say that!" Megan exclaimed, put empathise on the word funny. "Looking everywhere for it, he was, last Thursday! He's got this new teacher, see, and she's very strict, doesn't just worry about spelling either. Puts the fear of the gods into them about getting work in on time. Doesn't do Neil any harm, lazy little devil! So here he is on Thursday, hunting high and low, and all he can find is a funny old piece of writing…"

"Ah," said Howl. "What did he do with that writing?"

"I told him to hand it in to this Miss Susan of his," Megan said. "Might show her he tried for once."

"And did he?" Howl asked.

"I don't know. Better ask Neil. He's up in the front bedroom with that desktop circle of his," said Megan. "But you won't get a word of sense out of him."

"Come on," Howl said to Markl and Sophie, who both stared around the shiny brown and orange room. He took Mari's hand and led them all out of the room and up the stairs. To Sophie surprise carpet ran up the stairs, a pink and green one. She heard of the richest in Market Chipping and Kingsbury having them, but here? If she guessed their current location correctly.

So due to the carpet the procession led by Howl made hardly any noise as it went along the pink and green passage upstairs and into a room with a blue and yellow carpet.

Sophie watched the two boys crouched over a scale model of a large megalith complex, complete with tiny ram skulls on poles and delicate, little banner with intertwining snakes, sitting on a big table by the window in front of a mirror. One held in his hands a small pestle and mortar with runic markings. One red marking on the side of the mortar he would every so often tap his left thumb against. The mirror didn't reflect the boys, but instead showed something, unusual, moving pictures, like a newspaper cartoon somehow brought to life.

Mrs Conran taught a little about the recent history, like in the 1980s in a sudden craze for moving picture overtook Ankh-Morpork, with strict opposition from Lord Vetinari and Unseen University the Clicks as they became known moved to an abandoned settlement on the Circle Sea coast, Holy Wood. However, during a screening to try and convince the higher ups of the Twin City to endorse the Clicks a supernatural monster broke through a time and space rift the magic of the silver screen created and caused havoc in both Ankh-Morpork and Holy Wood. After it's defeat, the Click got banned entirely.

Sophie knowing this, couldn't help but worry about the risk these boys played with. It certainly seemed to have a spell on them. They probably wouldn't have looked up even for an army with a brass band.

The mirror showed some woman, who looked even more top-heavy than Sal, walking about some corridor shouting crossbow bolts at ghosts. The character moved in the direction the boy moved the pestle and fire when he pressed his thumb against the red marking.

"Neil!" said Howl.

"Don't interrupt," one of the boys said. "He'll lose his life."

Seeing it as a matter of life and death, Sophie and Markl backed towards the door. But Howl, quite unperturbed at killing his strode over to the wall and pulled one of the microliths sitting on the floor. The picture in the mirror vanished. Both boys said words which Sophie did not think even Martha knew. The second boy spun around, shouting, "Mari! I'll get you for that!"

"Wasn't me this time. So!" Mari shouted back.

Neil whirled further around and stared accusingly at Howl. "How do, Neil?" Howl asked pleasantly.

"Who's he?" the other boy asked.

"My no-good uncle," Neil said. He glowered at Howl. Dark, with thick eyebrows, and with an impressive glower. "What do you want? Put that plug back in."

"There's a welcome in the valleys!" said Howl. "I'll put it back when I've asked you something and you've answered."

Neil sighed. "Uncle Howell, I'm in the middle of a Megalith game."

"A new one?" asked Howl.

Both the boys looked discontented. "No, it's one I got for Hogswatch," Neil said. "You ought to know the way they go on about wasting time and money on useless things. They won't give me another till my birthday."

"Then that's easy," said Howl. "You won't mind stopping if you've done it before, and I'll bribe you with a new one…"

"Really?" both boys said eagerly, and Neil added, "Can you make it another of those that nobody else has got?"

"Yes. But just look at this first and tell me what it is," Howl said, and he held the shiny grey paper out in front of Neil.

Both boys looked at it. Neil said, "It's a poem," in the way most people would say, "It's a dead rat."

"It's the one Miss Susan set for last week's homework," said the other boy. "I remember 'wind' and 'finned'. It's about submarines."

While Sophie and Markl blinked at this new theory, wondering how they missed it, Neil exclaimed, "Hey! It's my long-lost homework. Where did you it? Was that funny writing that turned up yours? Miss Susan said it was interesting, lucky for me, and she took it home with her."

"Thank you," said Howl. "Where does she live?"

"That flat over Mrs Fellorick's tea shop. Chorlton Road," said Neil. "When will you give the new game?"

"When you remember how the rest of the poem goes," said Howl.

"That's not fair!" said Neil. "I can't even remember the bit that was written down now. That's just playing with a person's feelings…" He stopped when Howl laughed, felt in one baggy pocket, and handed him a flat packet. "Thanks!" Nail said devoutly, and without further ado he whirled around to his stone circle. Howl planted the stone back on the floor, he needed to position it exactly right before the set up worked again. He grumbled as he got up, "That's the problem with the Ley line system for a desktop megalith, you have to get it exactly aligned,"

He beckoned Markl and Sophie out of the room. Both boys began a flurry of mysterious activity, which Mari somehow squeezed into, watching with her thumb in her mouth, reminding Sophie of Martha as a very young girl.

Howl hurried away to the pink and green stairs, but Markl and Sophie both hung about near the door of the room, wondering about the whole thing. Inside Neil read aloud. "You are in an enchanted castle with six doors. Each opens on a different dimension. In Dimension One the castle is moving constantly and may arrive at a hazard at any time…"

Sophie wondered at the familiarity of this as she hobbled to the stairs. She found Markl standing halfway down, looking embarrassed. Howl at the foot of the stairs argued with his sister.

"What do you mean, you've sold all my books?" she heard Howl saying. "I needed one of them particularly. They weren't yours to sell."

"Don't keep interrupting!" Megan answered in a low, ferocious voice. "Listen now! I've told you before I'm not a storehouse for your property. You're a disgrace to me and Gareth, lounging about in those ridiculous clothes instead of buying a proper suit and looking respectable for once, taking up with riffraff and layabouts, bringing them to his house! Are you trying to bring me down to your level? You had all that training and then you dropped out! And you don't even get a decent job, you just hang around, wasting all that time at that Academy, wasting all those sacrifices other people made, our Uncle had great hopes for you remember, wasting your money…"

Megan would have been a match for Mistress Aching. Her voice went on and on. Sophie began to understand how Howl acquired the habit of slithering out. Megan seemed the kind of person who made you want to back quietly out of the nearest door. Unfortunately, Howl backed up against the stairs and Sophie and Markl bottled up behind him.

"…never doing an honest day's work, never getting a job I could be proud of, bringing shame on me and Gareth, coming here and spoiling Mari rotten," Megan ground on remorselessly.

Sophie pushed Markl aside and stumped downstairs, looking as stately as she could manage. "Come, Howl," she said grandly. "We really must be on our way. While we stand here, Vice-Chancellor Weatherwax is undoubtedly returning to the Castle after discussing with Captain Ironfounderson and von Überwald about our places in their wedding. So nice to meet you," she said to Megan as she arrived at the foot of the stairs, "but we must rush. Howl is such a busy man, having to travel across Ingary, from Kingsbury to Porthaven, then to Lancre to meet with King Verence the Second and to Ankh-Morpork and back, and now he's in meetings with Mistress Tiffany Aching."

Megan gulped a bit and stared at Sophie. Sophie gave her a stately nod pushed Howl towards the wavy-glass front door. Markl's face turned a bright red. Sophie saw this because Howl turned back to ask Megan, "Is Parkyn's runabout still in the shed, or have you should that too?"

"You're the only one who know how to start it," Megan answered dourly.

This seemed to be the only goodbye. The front door slammed and Howl took them to a square white building at the end of the flat blank. Howl did not say anything about Megan.

Sophie however, wanted to get her question of her chest. "This is Llamedos, isn't it?"

Howl sighed. "Yes, the town of Cwtch to be specific,"

"They how it is," Sophie asked, "that you don't have Llamedos accent?"

"I took elocution lesson when I entered the Royal Sorcery Academy." Howl said. He unlocked a wide door in the building, "I suppose the fierce Ankh-Morpork teacher is bound to have a copy of that book."

Howl lifted the wide door. Inside sat something resembling a steam carriage, but with only three wheels. First Howl checked the water tank. "Markl, there's a pump just behind the garage," he pointed to a bucket. "We need to get the tank filled." Markl nodded and after a few runs back and forth they filled the tank.

Sophie expected to wait about ten minutes while the engine got steam up, many local chauffeurs talked about the process to husbands and brothers waiting at the back of the hat shop while the women browsed. However, Howl took the driver's seat, pulled the handbrake, this somehow caused water to drain out the four pistons. He flicked a couple of switches on the panel in front of him. The Howl pulled something at his side, water started pumping, and after ten seconds he pushed the thing down. He turned to Sophie and Markl. "There's a little window on the side. Watch." He pressed another button and in said window became enlightened by white hot flame going in a circular motion.

"You two had better get aboard," Howl said. "I won't move off until I've got a temperature reading." Sophie hiked her skirt up to step aboard and Markl sat on the bench behind them. On the main gauge, with Sophie read, COMBIND PRESSURE AND TEMPERATURE GUAGE, a black needle twitch from 500psi to 750psi and Howl continuously cracked the regulator open slightly to relieve the pressure. After about a minute a red needle started moving. Howl waited until it hit 250 degrees.

Markl stared with awe. "That's the fast steam boiler I've ever seen!"

Howl chuckled. "It's not a boiler, Parkyn called it a Steam Generator. I really need to remember to patent it, Parkyn never got around to doing it."

Sophie wished to forget the next bit. What happened after Howl opened the regulator. Silently the engine pushed them along at a terrifying speed. How would merely touch the throat and there would be a shove of power. The wooden wheels made it a shaky experience as they tore down some of the steepest roads Sophie ever saw, roads so steep she wondered why the houses lining them did not slide into a heap at the bottom. She shut her eyes and clung to some of the pieces which tore off the seats, and simply hoped it would be over soon.

Luckily, it did end. They arrived in a flatter road with houses crammed in on both sides, beside a large window filled with a white curtain. The sign above the shop read:

Spout Hall Tea Rooms.

And a notice saying: TEAS CLOSED. But, despite this forbidding notice, when Howl pressed a button at a small door beside the window. The door opened to the face a middle-aged woman wearing a fez hiding a curled mess of orange hair, an over padded black and green diamond pattern shirt and red with black spotted bloomers. She eyed Howl up and down, then to Markl and Sophie. She then grumbled. "Back again Howell Jenkins? I thought it was my Nephew arriving at last. We're shut, you must know how strict the Druids are on Sundays? What do you want?"

Howl chuckled. "Same as ever Mrs Fellorick. I want to talk with Miss Susan,"

"Ah, she's upstairs. Follow me." As they entered the shop, Sophie felt dozens of invisible eyes on them. Presumably from everyone who pretended not to watch from their windows, in a town like this everyone knew everyone, and they gossiped about anything, very much like Market Chipping. Shutting the door behind her she followed Howl and Markl's troop up a flight of stairs.

Mrs Fellorick tapped on the door. "Miss Susan Bach? There's some people here to see you."

A muffled, and surprisingly young voice called back, "Very well Mrs Fellorick. Send them in," Howl pushed to door opened to a tiny, severe living room.

Sitting at a table, with piles of paper on it, sat Miss Susan. They all stared at her. For a fierce schoolteacher, and while stereotypical dress in a black and completely sensible dress, Miss Susan appeared surprisingly young, and attractive, in a skinny way. Sheets of pure white hair, but notably with a streak of black running from end to end on the left side, done up in a tight bun. And her almost glowing blue eyes drew ultimate attention, like with Mistress Aching, Sophie felt herself being summed up in the stare, only more thoroughly, as if she attempted to mark her.

"I'll take a small guess that you may be Howell Jenkins," Miss Susan said to Howl. She spoke with a refined and melodious voice, nevertheless with a sensible baseline, with a hint of an amused and sure of itself tone.

Howl seemed taken aback for an instant. Then his smiled snapped on. And this, Sophie thought, is where Lettie and Mistress Aching can say goodbye to Howl. Miss Susan is exactly the kind of lady someone like Howl could be trusted to fall in love with on the spot. And not only Howl. Markl stared admiringly too. Sophie recalled one or two chaps in Market Chipping, who as little boys, could have needed Miss Susan, stern but understanding, when they accidently filled their shoes.

"And you must be Miss Susan," said Howl. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I made a stupid mistake last week and carried off my Nephew's Morpork homework instead of a rather important paper I had with me. I gather Neil gave it to you as proof that he wasn't shirking."

"He did," said Miss Susan. "I'll find it," her attention turned to Sophie. "Won't you sit down?"

Sophie, still shaking from the steam carriage, sat down gladly on one of the two chairs. Not a very comfortable one. Miss Susan did not live in a room designed, presumably by herself, for comfort, but for study. Though a few things looked strange, like drawings from children of many strange things, Sophie understood the walls of books, and the piles of paper on the table, and the folders stacked on the floor. She sat and watched Markl staring sheepishly and Howl turning on his charm.

"How is it you come to know who I am?" Howl asked beguilingly.

"You've seemed to cause a lot of gossip in this town," Miss Susan said, busy sort through papers on the table.

"And what have those people who gossip told you?" Howl asked. He leaned languishing on the end of the table and tried to catch Miss Susan's eye.

"That you disappear and turn up rather unpredictably, for one thing," Miss Susan said.

"And what else?" Howl followed Miss Susan's movements with such a look Sophie knew the only chance to keep him chasing after Lettie and not moving the Castle to the middle of nowhere, would be for Miss Susan to fall instantly in love with Howl.

But Miss Susan seemed far too sensible a lady. She said, "Many other things, few of them to your credit," and caused Markl to blush by looking at him and then at Sophie in a way suggesting these things were not fit for their ears. She held a yellowish wavy-edged paper out to Howl. "Here it is," she said severely. "Do you know what it is?"

"Of course," said Howl.

"Then," Miss Susan added, with the familiar tone of a teacher encouraging her students, "Please tell me,"

Howl took the paper. There was a bit of a scuffle as he tried to take Miss Susan's hand with it. Miss Susan won the scuffle and put her hands behind back. Howl smiled meltingly and passed the paper to Markl. "You tell her," he said.

Markl's blushing face lit up as soon as he looked at it. "It's the spell! Oh, I can do this one… it's enlargement, isn't it?"

"That's what I thought," Miss Susan said rather accusingly. "I have met enough wizards to recognise a spell. I'd like to know what you were doing with such a thing."

"Miss Susan," said Howl, "if you have heard all those things about me, you must know I wrote my doctoral thesis on charms and spells. You look as if you suspect me of working black magic! I assure you, I never worked any kind of spell in my life." Sophie could not stop herself making a small snort at this blatant lie. "With my hand on my heart," Howl added, giving Sophie an irritated frown, "this spell is for study purposes only. It's very old and rare. That's why I wanted it back."

"Well, you have it back," Miss Susan said briskly. "Before you go, would you mind giving me my homework sheet in return? Printing costs money."

Howl brought out the grey paper willingly and held it just out of reach. "This poem now," he said. "It's been bothering me. Silly, really! But I can't remember the rest of it. By Roderick Purdeigh, isn't it?"

Miss Susan gave him a withering look. "Certainly not. It's by Rincewind and it's very well-known indeed. I have the book with it in here, if you want to refresh your memory."

"Please," said Howl, and from the way his eyes followed Miss Susan as she went to her wall of books, Sophie realised the real reason why Howl came to Llamedos, and this town where his family lived.

But Howl would not be above killing two birds with one stone. "Miss Susan," he said pleadingly, following her contours as she stretched for the book, "would you consider coming out for some supper with me tonight?"

Miss Susan turned with a large book in her hand, looking more severe than ever. "I would not," she said. "Mr Jenkins, I don't know what you've heard about me, but you must have heard I am engaged to Imp y Celyn…"

"Never heard of him," said Howl.

"My fiancé," said Miss Susan. "He may be better remembered as Buddy, from the Band with Rocks In. He stayed in Quirm to raise enough money for membership to the Guild of Musicians while I went to Ankh-Morpork after leaving the College for Young Ladies, to become a governess and then a teacher. I did have a male companion in the time between, and we started with one perfect moment, but after that it went downhill," she muttered under her breath, "All the time in the world and yet Lobsang could not find time for me," she sighed and returned to her story "Myself and Imp bumped into each other again during a City Council meeting and things took their course. I was supposed to meet him here and then he'd introduce me to his family, but since he hasn't shown up, yet, I took the liberty of joining the local school, they desperately needed the help. Now, do you wish me to read this poem out to you?"

"Do that," Howl said, quite unrepentant. "You have such a lovely voice."

"Then I'll start with the second verse," Miss Susan said, "since you have the first verse there in your hand." She read very well, not only melodiously, but in a way, which made the second verse fit the rhythm of the first, which in Sophie's opinion it did not do at all:

 _"If thou beest born to strange sight,_

 _Things invisible to see,_

 _Ride ten thousand days and nights_

 _Till age snow white hairs on thee._

 _Thou, when thou returnest, wilt tell me_

 _All strange wonders that befell thee,_

 _And swear_

 _No where_

 _Lives a woman true, and fair._

 _If thou…"_

Howl went a terrible white. Sophie could see sweat standing on his face. "Thank you," he said. "Stop there. I won't trouble you for the rest. Even the good woman is untrue in the last verse, isn't she? I remember now. Silly of me. Rincewind, of course." Miss Susan lowered the book and stared at him. He forced a smile. "We must be going now. Sure, you won't change your mind about supper?"

"I will not," said Miss Susan. "Are you quite well, Mr Jenkins?"

"In the pink," Howl said, and he hustled Markl and Sophie away down the stairs and into the horrible steam carriage. The invisible watchers in the houses must have thought Miss Susan chased them with a sabre, or a fire poker, if they judged from the speed with which Howl packed them into it and drove off.

"What's the matter?" Markl asked as the carriage went grinding uphill and clung to bits of seat for dear life. Howl pretended not to hear. So Markl waited until Howl locked it into its shed and asked again.

"Oh, nothing," Howl said airily, leading the way back to the yellow house called _Rivendell._ "The Witch of the Waste has caught up with me with her curse, that's all. Bound to happen sooner or later." He seemed to be calculating or doing sums in his head while he opened the garden gate. "Ten thousand," Sophie heard him murmur. "That brings it to about the Eve of Small Gods."

"What is brought to Small Gods Eve?" asked Sophie.

"The time I'll be ten thousand days old," Howl said. "And that, Mrs Nose," he said, swinging into the garden of _Rivendell_ , "is the day I shall have to go back to the Witch of the Waste." Sophie and Markl hung back on the path, staring at Howl's back. "If I keep clear of sea nymphs…" they heard him mutter, "and don't touch a mandrake root…"

Markl called out, "Do we have to go back into that house?" and Sophie called, "What will the Witch do?"

"I shudder to think," Howl said. "You don't have to go back in, Markl."

He opened the wavy-glass door. The familiar stairs of the Castle greeted them. Howl flung back his long sleeves and gave Calcifer a log.

"She caught up," he said.

"I know," said Calcifer. "I felt it take."

Wilbert came down the stairs and asked. Howl explained about the curse. The Vice-Chancellor frowned his eyebrows. "So, first she gives you a small curse outlining her intentions by using Sophie. Then," he paused, "How did she even arrange that?"

Howl went upstairs.

* * *

 **This chapter here was what really made me think I could truly integrate the two/ three stories.**

 **In order of thing seen. In** ** _The Light Fantastic_** **Sir Terry introduced the idea of megaliths being like early computers, and in the Discworld Timeline mentioned in the Author's Notes of Chapter 2, the event of that book happened forty years before the ones here. In forty years computers got smaller and video games with invented, so I decided to mix the two elements. The Ley line bit is a joke on landline, back when needed to connect your computer straight to the phoneline.**

 **The engine of the steam tricycle is based on the Doble steam car system considered the pinnacle of steam car development.**

 **Another reference to a British children's show.** ** _Chorlton and the Wheelies_** **. I did think of maybe an** ** _Ivor the Engine_** **reference, but I couldn't find and space for it.**

 **Now, Susan Sto Helit. She's replacing the book character of Miss Angorian, but her involvement is not the same, Susan would never do such a thing. As for her description as young, TV Tropes places the trope 'The Ageless' with her and says 'This is heavily implied, but not quite set in stone. No one really knows whether she's inherited immortality through her genetics, but considering she technically exists outside of time, it's more than likely.' I agree with the later.**

 **And onto relationship. I may be biased toward** ** _Soul Music_** **, especially the animated adaptation of it, but personally when I listened to** ** _Thief of Time_** **I didn't feel any connection between Susan and Lobsang, to me it felt somewhat forced, just because the two seem prefect for each other doesn't mean they will fall in love. So, for me, besides the official couples, both canonically and "Word of God", Susan and Imp are my Discworld OTP.**

 **I look forward for your arguments in comments. So long for now.**


	13. Chapter 13

Evening in Porthaven.

The Mayor marched ahead of a small procession. Beside him a Port Policeman. Behind, a drummer and a bugler, a man carrying the yellow with pink stripes flag of Ingary and a young man throwing pieces of paper about. And a couple of kids followed them curiously.

From out of an ally came one of the lanky henchmen of the Witch of the Waste. It turned away from the procession and went to explore the high end of the town. It passed an unassuming shop as two women discussed the flyers the Mayor's party gave out.

"This says they've landed on the coast already," one said. Her friend asked, "Where?" and the first woman pointed to a bit saying it. "North."

* * *

In his room, Howl lay on the bed concentrating. Around him is devices clicked and spun, giving him input.

A knock came from the door. And a muffled voice called, "Howl? I'm coming in." Sophie opened the door with her free hand, in her right she held a cup and saucer, she took a few glances about, it looked like the bedroom of some demented child, trinkets and hanging things, she even noticed a couple of stuffed animals on the bedsheets. Sophie approached Howl. "I've brought you some warm milk," she knew it would calm him down, she figured this new curse on him would get him stress and she didn't want him to go and have another tantrum.

"Want a sip?" she asked.

Howl shook his head. Sophie put it on the bedside table. "I'll leave it here for you then. Try to drink it before it gets cold." She turned toward the door. As she touched the door handle she heard a faint reply, "Sophie, wait."

She returned to his side and asked hopefully, "Do you want some milk?"

But Howl shook his head again. Sophie decided to wait for whatever he wanted so sat on the stool next to the bed.

Above them one of the weird mobiles jerked to a stop. The propeller turned, the jewel ejected light, which swapped from facet to facet, and a little bell rang.

Howl opened his eyes and gasped. "The Witch of the Waste is trying to find my Castle."

Sophie looked up and gasped herself with understanding. He needed these trinkets, all odd magical equipment, indeed some of them looked like shambles.

The door opened the Wilbert came.

Howl looked at him. "You sense it too?" Wilbert nodded. "Sal felt it first, an imitation of life, as she described it passed the Porthaven door."

Sophie quickly glanced between to two and added, "I saw her henchmen at the harbour," Wilbert turned to her. "When was this?"

Sophie explained. A thought from then returned to her. "No one in the town noticed seven feet of walking mud,"

Wilbert hummed. "I wonder, could she have thought of it too?"

"Thought of what?"

"Well," Wilbert began, before he paused and grabbed a chair. "You must recall being told people tend to see what they want, not what's actually there?" Sophie nodded.

"I managed to make a spell that work on similar principles. It's what I use when I'm shadowing for the Unmentionables,"

The spell worked on the central point of a disguise. A disguise is not meant to make you take on a whole new identity, as the penny dreadful and pulp fiction stories, or Markl's cloak, might suggest, but to make people ignore you.

The spell worked as a suggestive aura, it influenced the people observing the casters, or the subject of the spell to think as thusly, 'They look odd, I don't want to bother them as they could be weird and, or dangerous, it's not my problem.' And they will proceed to ignore you.

The Not My Problem Spell does have its flaws, if you dressed too outlandishly, like say a clown costume, the spell would kick into overdrive and you could be run over as the driver ignored you to point where, to them, you didn't even exist.

"With one or two slightly odd additions," Wilbert finished. "My tartan coat works at a good enough level to be ignored constantly, but still noticeable enough to be ignored consciously. I think the Witch of the Waste might have made a spell like mine, or she has an illusion spell on them. Though," he added, put a hand to his chin, "it intrigues me that you were able to see through whatever spell she's used."

Before Sophie could respond, Howl spoke up, "I'm such a big coward, all I do is hide," he shut his eyes. "And all this magic just to keep everybody away," he turned away from the others. "I can't stand how scared I am,"

Sophie softened, she never thought Howl would admit his faults, let alone be repulsed by his own nature. She glanced to Wilbert. The Vice-Chancellor looked up at the ceiling in thought. Sophie returned to Howl and asked, "If you're trying to keep everyone away, then why do you live with Wilbert and Sal, and allow me and Markl to live here too?"

Howl said nothing. Sophie decided to press harder and get some answers. "Howl? Why is the Witch of the Waste trying to hunt you down?" she already knew he, though Howl would not admit it, used to be a lover for the Witch, but what exactly happened between them she did not have any idea.

With nowhere on his pillow the move further away he returned to looking at the ceiling. "She was once quite beautiful, so I decided to pursue her," he turned away from Sophie again, only slightly this time. "Then I realised she wasn't. So as usual, I ran away."

Sophie sighed. It seemed he wouldn't explain himself and take it any further.

"I can't run much longer though," Howl added with a fearful tone, "I have to report to the Palace, as both Pendragon and Jenkins,"

After this afternoon Sophie knew Howl's real name, Howell Jenkins, but his other name, "How many aliases do you have anyway?"

"As many as I need to keep my freedom. Pendragon's a lovely name, much better than Jenkins."

Sophie hummed herself, it seemed a decent reason as to why he used so many name, too bad it didn't always seem to work.

Wilbert scoffed. "You're like Moist von Lipwig, Howl," Sophie glanced at him, "The Man in the Golden Suit?" she heard of Mr Lipwig as a prolific businessman, being Postmaster General of the Ankh-Morpork Post Office, on the board of the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company, which is run, in a very hands on manner, by his wife Adora Belle Dearheart, he is also Master of the Royal Mint in Ankh-Morpork and Deputy Chairman of the Royal Bank, since the current Chairman is in fact a dog, and a very old one too, as well as being Public Relations Officer for the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway. He possessed a talent for making people like him, and he used it to delegate very skilled people while he went about oiling the systems of these institution and let these employees go about running them for him.

Wilbert nodded. "Before Lord Vetinari," he paused, and his lips squirmed for moment, then shrugged and continue, "let's face it, forced Mr Lipwig into the position of Postmaster General, he was confidence trickster, he had, as far as I know, just encase he needs an escape route mind you, still has, at least six aliases, his most famous was Albert Spangler,"

Sophie shook her head, "Up until now I never heard of Mr Spangler,"

Wilbert blinked. "Really? Huh. I'll mention that next time I see him, he's either going to be relieved at having at least one place he can safely escape to or disappointed his notoriety never reach that far out."

Sophie decided to return to the current issue and turned back to Howl. "Just refuse the King's invitation,"

Howl shut his eyes again and point above and behind him. "See that?"

A parchment hung on the wall, not encase inside a picture frame, like a freeman status or a grant of arms. No, instead it hung from a dartboard, and thoroughly abused, with a dagger, a pair of scissors and a few darts jamming it in place. "That's the oath I took when I entered the Royal Sorcery Academy. I must report to the Palace whenever summoned."

Wilbert shook his head. "One reason why I deem Unseen University as the better institution, indeed in Ankh-Morpork it's encourage that wizards never get involved in politics. The only reason people go to the Patrician's Palace when summoned is because no one wants to find out first-hand what happens when you snub Lord Vetinari."

Sophie considered their comments then smiled and looked down at Howl. "You know, Howl? I think that you should see the King,"

Howl's eyes snapped open. "What?" His shock softened to dread. Sophie continued and entered an encouraging tone, "Give him a piece of your mind. Tell him this war is pointless and you refuse to take part, huh?"

Howl gave a big breath and turned away. "You obviously don't know what these people are like,"

"But he's are king. He should want to hear what all his citizens have to say,"

Wilbert scoffed again. "You don't know what kingship tends to means Sophie,"

Howl suddenly gasped and bolted upright. "I got it!" He looked to Sophie with an excited face, as his hair fell like wings over his face. "Why don't you go to the Palace for me?"

Both Sophie and Wilbert flinched. "Huh?" Sophie asked, and Wilbert followed closely with, "I beg your pardon?"

Howl leaned in closer to her, Sophie needed to back away, though her personal space issues subsided having to live with four other humans and fire demon, she did not want to get too close to his handsome, but currently overjoyed and perhaps manic face, she could do herself a mischief or end up doing something inappropriate.

"Just say you're Pendragon's mother!" Howl said. He leaned in closer for emphasis. "And that your son is such a cowardly wizard, he's too afraid to show his face. Then maybe Madame Suliman will finally give up on me!"

"Whose Madame Suliman?" Sophie asked in a whimper. Howl expression shifted from excitement to sudden thoughtfulness, he reined himself back to the bed, thankfully meaning Sophie wouldn't fall over off her chair. He looked unsure now and in deep remembrance. "She's the Head Sorceress," he turned a bit sober.

A throat cleared. Everyone turned to see Sal in the doorway, her hand on her hip. "Howl, you can't have Sophie got to Madame Suliman unprepared,"

Wilbert turned to her. "So," Wilbert asked, "you think she needs a test run and Howl's," he glanced between them and coughed. "Very old mother."

Sal nodded. "I think she needs to make her case in front of someone like Suliman," Wilber leaned back in his chair. "Well, the only person I can think who's remotely like Suliman is…" he blinked, jerked around mouth agape. "Sal?" he exclaimed. "You're not serious?"

"I am Wilbert," Sal said. "Besides it's been sometime since I visited her."

"She'll be expecting all of us then," the Vice-Chancellor grumbled. "Even if we turnup unannounced,"

Sophie looked between the two. "Who?" Sal and Wilbert answered at the say time. "Mrs Earwig." Although Sal answered as "Mrs Ah-widge," she paused and looked Sophie up and down. "Lady Sybil is holding a charity soiree, and Mrs Ah-widge is going to be there," she put empathises on the 'is'. "But I don't think she's going to want to speak with Sophie dressed and styled as she is now. Lady Sybil would, she's a very accommodating lady. Mrs Ah-widge? Oh, dear no," she helped Sophie up and said, "Come on Sophie, we're going shopping and getting your hair sorted out, not necessarily in that order,"

Sophie became confused. "Shopping? Can't I wear what Howl bought me this morning?" Sal looked at her shocked. "Sto Helit made? To something as simple as one of Lady Sybil's party," she shook her head, "Mrs Ah-widge would think you're overdoing it, a lady of class knows what to wear at any occasion," she dragged Sophie out into Ankh-Morpork. And given Sal's surprising strength Sophie could do little to resist. She took her broom and they flew off over the Shades and over Morpork, toward an open grass space near the old wall.

During the flight a buzzard flew up beside her.

To Sophie's surprise, a man about six inches high sat on the bird. Sal smiled at him. "Hello Buggy," she turned back to Sophie. "Sophie, this is Corporal Buggy Swires, he's a gnome, and he runs the Airborne Section of the Watch," she then readdressed the gnome corporal. "I'm just taking Sophie to my favourite hairdressers, in Lower Rimside."

Buggy nodded. "Just checking," he said and flew off.

Sophie remained quiet as the landed. Beside an elevated railway station, on top of viaduct like platform, underneath various shops occupied the arches. The station sign read,

COCKLED MOOR

Presently they entered Twitcher Street and made their way along its S shape bend to group of shops at the end. Sal made a direct journey to one. The sign above it said,

By the Blade

Which did not excite Sophie very much. Sal opened the door and once again pulled her into the shop. Sophie noticed an ornate and dainty looking travelling chest sitting in the corner. Once inside the Research Witch smiled at the man sweeping the floor. "Afternoon Nijel," she said as she put her broomstick into the combination hat rat and umbrella stand. Sophie followed with his straw hat and stick as she stared at the man. Young at only fifty, but he looked even younger. No ounce of body fat at all, as tall as Wilbert and Captain Carrot, maybe slightly more, but not as thickly muscled, wirier. He smiled, "Good afternoon," he looked to the back of the shop and called, "Honey, customers."

"I'm coming," came the reply, in a voice which made even Sophie's aged body react, a beautiful voice, it could have made 'Good morning' an invitation for, well, private, activities. The woman who walked out did not help. Hair of a golden white, almost as pure shining white as Wilbert's, with a skin of tanned gold, and in a demure white lace dress with fetchingly puffed sleeves. Sophie thought some very inappropriate things, even as an old woman.

Sal, presumably able to relate with of woman of equally stunning appearance and taste in clothing remained cheerfully polite. "Good afternoon Conina,"

Conina smiled. "Hello Sal, come for a styling job?"

"Yes," Sal replied, "But not for me," her hand gracefully indicated to Sophie. "I'm going to introduce Sophie to Mrs Ah-widge at Lady Sybil's party."

Conina nodded. "Then," she pulled out a chair in front of a mirror "Let she what we can do," she looked back at her husband, Sophie only now noticed she looked a similar age to the man. As well as this, like Wilbert and Sal, the world separated into two parts, the bit with Conina and Nijel, and then everything else around them.

In this moment Sophie glanced to Sal. The Research Witch's green eye sparkled with knowing recognition. It seems fairy tale style love does exist, Sophie thought, she sighed, no hope for me then, I hope Markl and Martha manage to stay together.

Presently Sophie ignored at lot of the conversation between Conina and Sal, until the hairdresser commented, "You must have been beautiful Sophie, your hair's still silky," Sophie didn't respond.

She did not remember much about the shopping either, something about a wandering shop called Opprobrium Brothers and the proprietor Mr Conway, who looked of Howondaland descent. She did remember her new outfit, she looked like a middle-class lady, very much suited to her status then, puffed, frilly and high neckline blouse, with a shoulder cap, not quite a shawl, but similar and a trumpet skirt, over which she wore a small checked suit, the sleeves of which ended at her elbows with long black gloves covering her arms. A very nice arrangement she conceded. She did however, refuse a new hat, she felt attached to her straw one, she felt it suited her and at least one piece of her old life.

When they came back in after a couple of hours Calcifer said the boys got prepared upstairs, and Sal joined them to get ready herself. Sophie felt fine, if rather stiff waiting for them, and of course for Howl to finish in the bathroom. While she waited, she told Calcifer about the strange country where Howl's family lived. It took her mind away from going to a party, presumably with the cream of Ankh-Morpork society, and indeed the some of the greatest living people of the Disc.

Calcifer looked very interested. "I knew he came from foreign parts," he said. "But I didn't expect him to come from Llamedos, that land doesn't really scream magic to me, Druids can be powerful, but that more Quantum, like in Djelibeybi. I guess Howl exists in some quiet whisper of magic drown out by the choirs and the rain. Clever of the Witch to send the curse in from there. Very clever all around. That's magic I admire, using something that exists anyway and turning it around into a curse. I did wonder about it when you and Markl were reading it the other day. That fool Howl told her too much about himself."

Sophie gazed at Calcifer. It did not surprise her to find Calcifer admired the curse, any more than it surprised her when he called Howl a fool. He always insulted Howl. But she never could work out if Calcifer really hated Howl, always hard to tell.

Calcifer moved her eyes to into Sophie's. "I'm scared too," he said. "I shall suffer with Howl if the Witch catches him. If you don't break the contract before she does, I won't be able to help you at all."

Before Sophie could ask more, Howl came dashing out of the bathroom looking his very finest, scenting the room with roses and yelling for Markl. Markl clattered downstairs. Sophie stood up and collected her trusty stick. Time to go.

"You look wonderfully rich and stately!" Markl said to her.

Sal nodded. She removed her black dress. "She does Opprobrium Brothers credit,"

"Apart from that awful old stick and hat," Howl added.

"Some people," said Sophie, "are thoroughly self-centred. This stick goes with me. I need it for moral support.

Howl looked at the ceiling, but he did not argue.

They took their stately way into the streets of Ankh-Morpork. Wilbert hailed a taxi carriage. As they climbed in Wilbert gave the cabby the address, "Ramkin House, Scoone Avenue, Seven Sleepers, please."

The taxi stopped outside a decently clean mansion house on a wide, tree-lined, incredibly select part of Ankh. The house commanded an outcrop giving it a magnificent view of the city. Already various luminaries of the Twin City milled about the estate. People of a certain social standing kept attending each other's social functions. It gives them something to do. It makes them look philanthropic, by giving away a small fraction of the money they earn from, questionable means, to distract the general populous, who tend on focus on where money goes, not where it comes from. And it also allows them to catch up on the latest society scandal.

As they passed the ornamental lake they heard a couple of, trumpeting laughter. Markl flinched. "What was that?"

"The hippos," Wilbert said. Sophie blinked. "Hippos?"

"Yes, Roderick and Keith, they belong the College of Heralds, but in 1987 the building brunt down. Mister Vimes and Lady Sybil had the animals used to model for the coat of arms here until it could be rebuilt, but the hippos didn't want to leave. Mister Vimes is fine with it, it's one more trap against the assassins, he spent years appealing to Lord Downey to get him relisted on the," he coughed, "client register,"

This time Howl stopped and turned around with utter surprise. "Commander Vimes wants to be a target for assassination?"

"Of course," Wilbert said in an obvious tone, he explained, "It's not as if he wants to be shot at or stabbed, but he thinks of it as a kind of vote of confidence. It shows he's annoying the rich and arrogant people who should be annoyed, it shows he's doing his job right. Besides, he can outwit the Assassins' Guild with ease, they have a strict code of honour and gentlemanly and ladylike behaviour, Mister Vimes on the other hand is a pragmatist and has very few rules. Hence booby trapping various areas of the estate, so mind how you go. Miss Alice Band, Head Mistress of Praying Mantis House, formerly Tump House, until the disgrace of Reacher Gilt, came up with a compromise. Previously she sent one of her students to get Mister Vimes within her crossbow sights but do nothing else. It was in fact a lesson in the folly of arrogance and over-confidence, Mister Vimes had rigged some tiles to slide away and the girl fell into the cesspit,"

Everyone cringed.

"So," Wilbert finished, "Ramkin House now a training ground for student assassins. If anyone has beef with Commander Vimes the Guild send a, suitable, student to try send a warning shot, and later learn from their mistakes,"

They made their way in silence, since apart from Wilbert and Sal, they focus on where they stepped, indeed Howl, Markl and Sophie did their best to literally follow in Wilbert and Sal's footsteps.

Inside the manor many finely dressed individuals stood in front of them in a line, but never the less they wore nothing as fine as what Howl bought earlier in the day, but still conveyed grander. Soon the line continued onwards as people mingled at the entrance, their small magical party worked their way through to the main hall. Just in front of the entrance pillars stood one of the oddest couples Sophie ever saw, and being in customer service, she saw a few odd couples in her time.

The man, stood in old battered Watch armour and leather shirt and jerkin, with the standard sword and truncheon, he even somehow made a helmet look crumpled.

Wilbert knelt to Sal and muttered, "Looks like Mister Vimes successfully hid his ceremonial uniform again," Sal bit her lip hard.

Sophie then turned to examine the woman. Plus-sized and strongly built, gowned in blue with masses of chestnut hair. The man looked to Wilbert and grinned, though his face also contorted to confusion. "Evening, Wilbert. Didn't think you come to one these,"

"I wasn't planning to, Mister Vimes," Wilbert said and the two started to talk privately.

Sophie, and by extension the others, were escorted by Sal to speak with the woman, Lady Sybil Vimes, who Fanny spoke of with so much reverence. Her ladyship smiled at them all as Sal introduced them all to her. "So nice to meet you, Captain Carrot mentioned you all when he and Angua came to update us on the wedding," she turned to Sophie. "I hope we get to talk in private, Mrs Pendragon," she gave a quick wink. Sophie glanced to Howl, he looked a little unsure of himself.

Sal cleared his throat. "Uh, Lady Sybil? Do you know if Mrs Ah-widge is here tonight?"

"Oh, she is indeed," Lady Sybil said with a hint of annoyance. "I think she wants to get in as many of Mr Chriek's pictures as she can,"

Sal blinked. "Otto's here?" Lady Sybil nodded. "Yes, the _Times_ , Miss Cripslock's idea I imagine, are making a new publication _Hoy! (Magazine)_ , celebrity and human interest as she calls it,"

Wilbert walked up. "Well, she does more about what interest humans than her husband does," he turned to Sal. "Mister Vimes, the faculty and the Patrician want to talk with me, they were planning on doing so tomorrow, but since I'm here," he sighed. "If it's about what I think it is, then I'll need to make my way to Kingsbury as soon as possible," Sal nodded. "I understand, Wilbert," the Vice-Chancellor smiled, leaned down, parted some of her hair and kissed her on the cheek. He stood straight again and nodded to the others, before followed the Duke of Ankh into the main party.

Lady Sybil smiled. "Are they not just such a sweet couple," she readdressed Sophie, "If you and Sal go and Mrs Ah-widge, then perhaps I shall introduce Master Fisher here to Young Sam and his friends," she then addressed Howl, "I'm afraid we can't introduce you to the others, Mr Pendragon, but the house is so crowded you'll get to know everybody. A word of warning though, do be careful of Lady Regina Rust, as Havelock, Lord Vetinari I mean, has said, she's a hot-headed, ferocious woman, very difficult and very smart,"

As soon as they entered the hall everyone went their separate ways. Howl went somewhere on his own. Lady Sybil escorted Markl over to a corner were a bunch of children mingled, the eldest being only between sixteen and seventeen, and not just human children, dwarfs, trolls, goblins. Sal and Sophie searched until the Research Witch spoke, with some excitement, "There she is," and she nodded to a lone woman sitting at table, elderly, wears lots of jewellery, very tall pointed hat and silver glasses on a chain. Sal walked towards here with an air of graciousness. She cleaned her throat and the woman looked up. She smiled. "Ah, Sal, how are you my dear gel?"

"I'm very fine, Mrs Ah-widge,"

"And how is your fiancé?"

"Oh, Wilbert's doing fine, he's probably discussing some important matters with Lord Vetinari, His Grace Sir Samuel and the faculty at this very moment,"

As the two conversed, Sophie could help but notice how talkative and open Sal acted recently. When she met her after intruding into the Castle, Sal seemed very hesitant around her, but then after she learned about the curse on her, and when Sophie started as the cleaning lady, Sal acted like a good friend to her, which truth be told, Sophie felt happy for, the first friend Sophie could be open to since her father passed away. Sal, like Lady Sybil and Captain Carrot carried this, charisma about her, Wilbert carried a fascinating eccentricity about him, but not this almost divine favour at being pleasant, down-to-earth and perky when she really tries.

Sal then spoke more directly at her, bring Sophie out of her thought. "Uh, Mrs Ah-widge, allow me to present Howl's old mother," she wave her hand at Sophie.

"Charmed. Delighted," Mrs Earwig said, with an expression of your annoying me, but I'm going to be polite. She held out a black gloved hand, and yes, which included silver zodiacal embroidery on the knuckles. Sophie felt unsure if Mrs Earwig meant for her to kiss it, but she could not bring herself to try. She laid her own hand on the glove instead. The hand under it felt like an old, cold claw. After feeling it, Sophie became quite surprised at how Mrs Earwig still lived. "Forgive my not standing up, Mrs Pendragon," Mrs Earwig said. "My health is not good. It forced me to retire from teaching three years ago, so Sal was my last apprentice. Pray sit down, both of you."

Trying not to shake with nerves Sophie sat grandly in the embroidered chair opposite Mrs Earwig's supporting herself on her stick in what she hoped would be the same elegant way.

Sal spread herself gracefully in a chair next to it, between the two. She looked quite at home, Sophie envied her.

"I'm sixty-eight," Mrs Earwig announced. "How old are you, my dear Mrs Pendragon?"

"Ninety," Sophie said, being the first high number to come into her head, especially after what Fanny said the morning after the Witch of the Waste cursed her.

"So old?" Mrs Earwig said with may have been slight, stately envy. "How lucky you are to move so nimbly still."

"Oh, yes," Sal said, with a hesitant tone, "she's so wonderfully nimble, there's not stopping her sometimes."

Mrs Earwig gave her a look which told Sophie she used to be a teacher as fierce as Miss Susan. "I am talking with Mrs Pendragon gel, you will speak when you are spoken to, am I understood?"

Sal bowed her head and whimpered, "Yes, Mrs Ah-widge," Mrs Earwig nodded and returned to Sophie. "I daresay you must be proud of you son Howl. Although that boy is going to bad." She indicated behind Sophie. Sophie glanced back to see Howl talking with someone, a blond haired young man in his early forties, who held a closed notebook in his hand.

"Take his whole appearance," she said sweepingly. "Look at his clothes."

"He is always very careful about his appearance," Sophie agreed, and wondered why she put it so mildly.

"I am careful about my appearance too, and I see no harm in that, I mean a witch has a reputation to keep up. And you must be crafty to do witchcraft," said Mrs Earwig proudly, then she turned stern. "But what call has to be walking around in a charmed suit? It is a dazzling attraction charm, directed at ladies, very well done, I admit, and barely detectable even to my trained eye, since it appears to have been darned into the seams, and one which render him almost irresistible to ladies, only those who have magic themselves or a true love will resist it, so Lady Sybil, Captain Angua, Miss Dearheart, Sal here and Miss Cripslock are fine, but I fear many have neither will fall victim of it. This represents a downwards trend into black arts which must surely cause you some motherly concern, Mrs Pendragon, he could end up like Lilith Weatherwax or Esty Throckmorton, aliases the Witch of the Waste, I trained with her,"

Sal blinked and raised her hand.

"Yes, Sal?"

"Excuse me, Mrs Ah-widge, but you never said you studied with the Witch of the Waste before?"

"That's because I cut my connections to her when Madame Suliman banished her. And rightly so I say. Yes, we both agreed witches' magic should be a more refined thing, but she took it as power not as a skill as I deem it, and thanks to her, my methods have been discredited, thus no one will believe in them. As such I must believe in myself,"

Sophie meanwhile, thought uneasily about the grey and scarlet suit. She darned the seams without noticing it anything about it. But Mrs Earwig being a senior witch, she would be an expert in magic, however misguided her views on it were. Sophie did not have any expertise in magic at all, only in clothes.

Mrs Earwig put both gloved hands on the table and canted her stiff body so both her trained and piercing eyes stared into Sophie's. Sophie felt more and more nervous and uneasy. "My life is nearly over," Mrs Earwig announced. "I have felt Death tiptoeing close for some time now."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't so," Sophie said, trying to sound soothing. It proved hard to sound like anything with Mrs Earwig staring at her the manner she did.

"I assure you it is so," said Mrs Earwig, "witches and wizards are told of their death in advanced. I was anxious when Sal said Wilbert became friends with Howl, I heard about his reputation, and I corresponded with Madame Suliman, she'll probably have more to say on the matter when you see her, from what Sal told me through her letters I can tell Howl fears what she would do to him, because of what he is now. But what is he now?"

"What indeed?" Sophie asked.

"Something happened to him," Mrs Earwig said still staring piercingly at Sophie.

"What do you think has happened?" Sophie asked uncomfortably.

"I must rely on you to tell me that," said Mrs Earwig. "My feeling is as I said before, he could end up the same way as the Witch of the Waste. I know she was not wicked once, she's is older than either of us and keeps herself young by her arts. Howl has gifts in the same order as hers. It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil."

"Yes," Sophie said. "Sal explained Cackling to me."

"I'm not surprised, I thought Esme Weatherwax would follow her sister on a few occasions. Do you, by any chance, have a clue what it might be?"

Calcifer's voice can into Sophie's mind, during her first night in the Castle and his pleading to her. She felt a little chilly, despite the heat of the summer evening blowing through the opened windows of the hall. "Yes," she said. "He's made some sort of contract with a fire demon."

Mrs Earwig's hands twitched. "That would be it. You must break that contract, Mrs Pendragon."

"I would if I knew how," Sophie said.

"Surely your maternal feelings and your own strong magic gift will tell you how," Mrs Earwig said. "I have been looking at you, Mrs Pendragon, though you may not have noticed…"

"Oh," said Sophie. "I noticed, Mrs Ah-widge," Mrs Earwig smiled. "And I like your gift," she said. "It brings life to things, such as that stick in your hand, which you have evidently talked to, to the extent that it has become akin to a wizard's staff. I think you would not find it too hard to break that contract."

"Yes," Sophie said, trying her best to remain level, while her thoughts, all of them argued with each other. "But I need to know what the terms of it are." Her thoughts, having brought up previous facts by both Sal and Mistress Aching, agreed on one thing, "Did Sal tell you I was witch? Because if she did…"

"She did not." Mrs Earwig confirmed. "There is no need to be coy. You can rely on my experience to know these sorts of things, I am Letice Ah-widge after all," then to Sophie's relief she shut her eyes. Like a strong light being turned off. "I do not know, not do I wish to know, about such contracts," she said. Her hands twitched, and her jewels jangled it sounded like an orchestra of windchimes. Her mouth quirked to a line, suggesting she unexpectedly bit down on a peppercorn.

"But I now see," she said, "what has happened to Esty, the Witch. She made a contract with a demon, I'm afraid I can't determine the type. Over the years said demon has taken control of her. Demons do not understand good and evil. But they can be bribed into a contract, provided the human offers them something valuable, something only humans have. Usually the soul, but it can be something else. This prolongs the life of the both human and demon, and the human gets the demon's magic powers to add to his or her own."

Mrs Earwig opened her eyes again. "That is all I can bear to say on the subject," she said, "except to advise you to find out what that demon got. Now, I must bid you farewell. I wish to speak with Sal in private."

Sophie felt extremely glad to go. She all but squirming with embarrassment by now. She looked back at Mrs Earwig talking with Sal, she wondered it Mrs Earwig would have made her feel this bad if she really and truly been Howl's old mother. Sophie rather thought she would. Though genuinely kind-hearted and loving person to Sal, and presumably her husband, she also looked to be snobbish, meddling and refusing to listen to others, a self-important know-it-all with upper-class aspirations, Sophie saw a couple during her life in the hat shop. The woman who bought the same type of bonnet as Jane Farrier sprung to mind. She came in later in the week and complained about nothing happening, Sophie lost her temper and as a result, lost the customer, but one customer no better than she should be would not have caused too much trouble. Besides it happened just a day before her the most recent, and most infamous May Day, she did have other concerns at the time, and even more now.

As she walked away she recovered enough from Mrs Earwig's personality to think of some of the things Mrs Earwig said. She called Sophie a witch. Oddly enough, Sophie accepted this without any trouble at all. It explained the popularity of certain hats, she thought. It explained Jane Farrier's Earl whatsit. It possibly explained the jealousy of the Witch of the Waste. Sophie felt as if she always known this. But she thought it would not be proper to have a magic gift being the eldest of three. Lettie as Mistress Aching said carried the talent to sensibly suit magic.

Then she thought of the grey and scarlet suit and nearly collapsed to the floor with dismay. She put the charm on it. She could hear herself now, murmuring to it. "Built to pull in the girls!" she told it. And of course, if did. Mrs Earwig thankfully said those with magic could resist it, so Lettie would be safe, but yesterday, it must have secretly affected Miss Susan.

Oh, dear! Sophie thought. I've gone and double the number of hearts he'll have broken! I must get that suit off him somehow!

As she walked away in her own thought she heard a voice call over, "Sophie!"

Sophie looked around and saw Markl waving her over. So, she walked, suddenly realising she stood on the other side of a pack ballroom, she managed to walk all the way without bumping into someone.

Markl stood with a group of children, the ones she saw before. The oldest at seventeen wore formal but plain attire. Dwarf, troll and goblin children stood among them. Markl smiled. "Sophie this is Young Sam," he pointed to the oldest. He looked like a younger version of the Duke.

"Excuse me?"

Sophie turned around to see a pale man with oval glasses, a black vest with about a dozen pockets, with red slick linings and coat tails, a black ribbon badge, carrying an Iconograph machine on a stand. He smiled broadly showing rather large fangs. Sophie backed up unnerved. A hand took her arm. She looked down to one of the other human boys. He wore his fair hair like the man she saw Howl speaking with a few minutes ago, he also wore a similar outfit, with somewhat outdated breeches. His face looked eclectically handsome, possessing at least two features that would have made various artists from various times in history bite their easels in half. He gave a rococo style of smile. "Otto's a member of the Temperance League, he just wants to take our picture."

Sophie nodded, "I'll step out of the way, I would look out of place for an old woman to be within such a young crowd, you all look too old for a nanny," the kids laughed. The vampire named Otto nodded, "Sank you," he put his head under the cloak cover and started giving orders. "Daemon? Could you please move two zeps to you left? Zats goot. Master John and Miss Vynne Soma von Lipvig?", a boy and a girl looked up at the same time and moved according to his instructions too.

Sophie watched the oddity, she saw photographers capture stuff on the spur of the moment, in the action they said, but this Mr Otto arranged them to the prefect picture.

Mark began losing patients. "Can't you just take the Icon?" he asked fuming as the vampire adjusted the focus for the fourth time. Daemon replied, "It's not that simple Markl, he has to get the picture just right, Mum and Father have been on the receiving end of this in some, odd circumstances, just be thankful it's not happening now."

Sophie saw a nearby chair. It would probably be a long evening, so she sat down and waited.

* * *

 **The Not My Problem Spell comes from the MLP Fanfiction** ** _Parting Words_** **when I first heard a reading of it by YouTuber Dr Wolf I immediately thought it sounded very Discworld.**

 **Kingship is explained by this quote from** ** _Carpe Julugum_** **'Verence was technically an absolute ruler and would continue to be so provided he didn't make the mistake of repeatedly asking Lancrastians to do anything they didn't want to do.'**

 **Part of why I want to do this was to give a little closure on characters we never really saw get a conclusion. Conina and Nijel from** ** _Sourcery_** **among them.**

 **Onto the wandering shop of Opprobrium Brothers, the name is a joke on Grace Brother in the BBC sitcom** ** _Are You Being Served_** **. I thought maybe a crafty proprietor would get around the shop wandering by making the staff wander instead.**

 **The change of Tump House to Praying Mantis House is my personal head-canon to explain the difference from the** ** _Assassins' Guild Diary 2000_** **and** ** _The Art of Discworld_** **as the Assassin's Guild School would not want to associate themselves with such a criminal and ungentlemanly figure as Reacher Gilt, or at least that's my view.**

 **I think it's obvious what** ** _Hoy! (Magazine)_** **is meant to parody.**

 **Mrs Earwig (and I always thought Sal would be so polite as to refer to her the way she wants to, not out of self-interest, but be considerate to her tutor's wishes) is replacing Howl's tutor from the book Mrs Pentstemmon. As seen in** ** _The Shepherd's Crown_** **there is more depth and magically proficiency, and pure confidence in Mrs Earwig them previously assumed. And I threw in the mention of Lily Weatherwax to partially explain Mrs Earwig's dislike Granny Weatherwax, it makes sense to me.**

 **I find Mrs Earwig an interesting character to I thought about developing her a little bit more. Sophie surmise of Mrs Earwig is straight from the description of Hyacinth Bucket from** ** _Keeping Up Appearances_** **who is undoubtedly an inspiration for Mrs Earwig.**

 **And, giving the Witch of the Waste an actual name. I wanted to attempt at humanising her a little bit more like with the movie. But I/ Bismarck have a plan. I/ Bismarck always have a plan. (How many of you will get that reference?) The name Esty Throckmorton I took from a couple of people accused as Pendle Witches in Lancashire.**

 **So, I've also introduce my idea for the next generation of the Ankh-Morpork elite. Young Sam of course, we'll be learning a bit more about him later. We also have Daemon de Worde and John and Wynne Soma von Lipwig. And I have for other family members as well.**

 **See you next time.**


	14. Chapter 14

Sophie awoke next morning a little fussy. She could not remember having any drinks last night at the charity ball, but then again, after the revelation Mrs Earwig drop of her, about Sophie in fact being a witch, able to speak life in things, maybe she needed something to calm other nerves, a lot.

It also made her think about all those times she spoke to things. Aside from the hats she gave mysterious allure, dimples and hearts of gold. She wondered what would happened between Jane Farrier and her Earl when she didn't wear the bonnet. And putting her cane to one side in her mind, she did not have a clue how to use it like a wizard's staff and quite frankly she did not want to start, not until she saw Wilbert at least. No, she wondered about the other things she talked out load to.

Turnip-Head started following her after she made a joking comment, which the magic took seriously, in a be careful what you wish for manner. And Wilbert mentioned something about an enchantment bring him to life. The Castle responded and let her in when she frustratingly asked. She recalled the human skull yattered and chattered once or twice. What else did she speak too? What else would she speak too? Old habits die hard after all.

As a result, she couldn't really remember much of the night after seeing Mrs Earwig, Markl seemed to have fun talking with the top children of Ankh-Morpork, apparently being the top children of families in both Ankh and Morpork, she heard Dibbler called out by the vampire Otto, the boy looked like a Morpork child.

"Oh, Sophie, your wake," said a voice. Sophie looked up from her bed to Sal sitting at the workbench. The Research Witch looked a little sheepish, Sophie learned to tell through Sal's body language instead of facial expression.

"Wilbert had to leave the catch the train to Kingsbury, Howl thinks it might be best if you got to the Palace today,"

Sophie sighed. She certainly did not wish to see the King. But she thought of what Calcifer said. If the King did command Howl to go into the Waste and the Witch caught him, Sophie's own chance of being young again would have gone too. As well as this if Howl joined the war, who knows what would happen to him. Overhearing some of Wilbert's conversations, Sophie found out, while wizards have protected themselves with so many spells as to render them impervious to death by magic, they have yet to devise a definitive way to protect themselves from the more regular methods of death. And Howl, though she hated his cowardice, knew he should be afforded the right to be a coward and count his white feather.

Sal came over and passed the clothes of the Opprobrium Brothers shop. "Howl's made some improvements to them,"

Sophie's stomach growled. She gave Sal a stern look. Trying to imitate Mrs Earwig. "Well, I not going to see the King on an empty stomach.", she proceeded to, much to the chagrin of Calcifer, make and eat her breakfast in her nightclothes before drawing the curtains of her alcove to get changed.

Markl and Howl came quickly as Sophie finished dressing. Howl must have rushed either out of bed or out of the bathroom, as for some reason he stood in the middle of the living room holding the letter she would need to give upon her arrival, with a blanket over his shoulders and slippers. Trying to keep her head out of the gutter, she focused on her clothes, putting her checked coat on, then the gloves. She noticed Howl brightened the faded colours, colours which worked for an upper-middle class woman in Ankh-Morpork, but the mother of a prominent wizard in the bright Royal City? She understood why, but could Howl for once ask her opinion on the matter?

Well, she thought, he's not going to have it all his way. She pulled her straw hat down on her head firmly. No doubt the _Ankh-Morpork Times_ would have made it to Kingsbury, maybe somewhere on today's addition she appeared in the background, she might as well keep this possible continuity up. Howl as she expected looked on quite confused. "You're wearing that hat?" he asked as she took the letter and pocketed it. "After all that magic I used to make you dress pretty?"

She turned away from him before he finished and the moment he did she gave a sharp order to Markl, who innocently bemused, held her walking stick. "Take care of him Markl," she gently took her stick from the boy, who nodded and hummed acknowledgement, she then headed for the door.

"Good luck," Calcifer called.

Oh great, thank you Calcifer, you demon, Sophie's sarcastic thoughts did. Now I'm sure to fail.

It is a commonly known fact, and commonly held belief, about the Lady, possibly the most powerful of the Discworld pantheon, while not actually having any true worshippers, also known as; "She-who-shall-not-be-named… The 'Million-to-One' Chance, and all the other chances as well… The One who will desert you when you need Her the most, and sometimes She might not…" will disappear the moment you say her true name out load, seemingly being the exception to every rule, knowing her true name make you powerless, not Her.

She put her hand on the knob and turned it to the red setting. Before she could push down on the handle. Howl jumped down beside her. He took her left hand, gently slide an ornate ring onto her index finger. As she wondered what just happened, Howl spoke tenderly into her ear, "This charm, will grantee your safe return."

Sophie darted back to look at him. He smiled. "Don't worry, I'll follow behind you in disguise," then suddenly, he opened the door. "Now, off you go." And he carefully pushed her out. Taking the hint Sophie did her best to be graceful as she existed onto the street in Kingsbury. The door shut behind her. Sophie of course looked back to what the castle entrance looked like here. She saw a big, red brick building with a high archway surrounding the small door. It looked like some disused warehouse or stable.

She turned away from the door and examined the ring. "Why do I feel like this is not going to work?" she asked out load. What would the ring end up becoming? She wondered. What I really want now, is to become invisible, so I don't have to do this. Of course, knowing my luck, while I'd be rid of that problem I'd probably attract a new bunch of them, very fearsome ghosts or something.

As she walked through the streets, looking at least as fine as any passer-by. Though few people did venture out, not compared to Ankh-Morpork. Some passed in vehicles, including soldiers.

The one thing which made Kingsbury an important place in the Ramtops and Octarine Grass Country, and eventually transformed it into the capital of the nation, is its climate. This is all down to light. The large magical field slows down light on the Discworld. Even more so in the Ramtops as the epicentre it. So, with such slow light the heat carried by the light builds up in some areas. Kingsbury sat in a large and now iceless glacial valley were the heat tended to linger, making it very attractive, since even in winter the grass is green, whereas in Lancre there are multiple blankets of snow, and the people of Lancre have even more blankets on their beds.

Such warm climates on the main continent are virtually unheard of. This is of course dismissing the fact both the continents of Klatch and Howondaland are contiguous to the main continent, just considered separate by culture and hazardous geography. In Ankh-Morpork the winters deemed harsh, mainly by those living in Ankh-Morpork. And the summers are the only things to pacify the city. No enemy ever took Ankh-Morpork, not truly, since the city welcome free spending barbarian invaders, who after a few days no longer owned a horse, and within a couple of months became simply another minority group, with its own graffiti and food shops. But the summer heat besieged the city, triumphed over the walls and lay over the trembling streets like a shroud. Dogs lay panting in the scalding shade. Assassins became too tired to inhume. It turned thieves honest. Even bluebottles ended up too exhausted to bang against windowpanes.

While the heat in Kingsbury did bake the day, it did not pacify anyone nor anything. Above Sophie a caw shrieked. She looked, and a black bird fluttered away from some friends. Sophie watched it disappear over the buildings. "I wonder what Howl disguised himself as? Surely not a crow."

Presently she entered a park area with a plaza in the centre, and in the middle of this stood a statue of a bearded man, dressed in military uniform, sitting on a rearing horse. Presumably an old king, or some great historical and or legendary figure of Ingary. A section of soldier stood guarding it, as well as small antiaircraft guns. The statue must play some importance to the safety of the nation, if the statue fell, the nation would fall, something folkloric which the military sometime took as law, or maybe just for propaganda. She would have probably stopped to read the plaque on the plinth if not for her mission. She did however, notice the loft of pigeons which seemingly out of their nature congregated on the statue, unfortunately they sometime roosted in the mouths of gargoyles.

"Can't be a pigeon," Sophie stated. "He's too flamboyant for that…"

A fighter plane buzzed over the statue, low and loudly enough the scare the pigeons. A young girl in a yellow dress stood behind the pilot and giggled hysterically. Sophie frowned, and her sarcastic thought overtook her again. "That could be him."

She left the park and continued down the Royal Mall, or Ingary's Main Street. It went on for miles going up a hill, to connect the Parliament Building to the Palace. Many government buildings and embassies sat on this stretch, as well as those upper-class tradesmen who could afford the lease or rent of real-estate on such a famous road.

"Ah, Sophie," called a familiar voice. She stopped and turned to her side. Wilbert sat at a table in front of a fancy restaurant connected to a hotel. A napkin on his lap and another tucked into his collar covering his goggles. "Care for some breakfast?" he asked. His plate full of fancy looking food. Then Sophie noticed two others at the table, one human, Geoffrey Swivel, sitting on a chair, the other a goat standing beside him. Mr Swivel noticed her confused look at the goat. "Oh," he said putting his knife and fork down. "That's right, he wasn't there when Sal brought you to meet us," he cleared his throat. "Sophie this is my goat, Mephistopheles, he's what you might call my Familiar."

The goat looked at her with an eldritch letterbox stare, it reminded her of Mistress Aching's cat. To take her mind off it she focused her attention on the two young men. She blinked at the plates. The difference between the two. Mr Swivel seemed content with the, above average, sausage, bacon and eggs. While Wilbert decided to indulge on practically everything, at least five times.

Sophie opened her mouth, but Wilbert put his hand up. "Yes, I know I must look like a hypocrite, after what I told Calcifer on your first morning, this is only an occasional thing, Sophie. Either at home, or at the University I'm content with one helping of a full Ankh-Morpork breakfast and slice of toast. Whereas at a hotel breakfast buffet I'll have that as my starter. This is partly because outside of Ankh-Morpork people expect wizards to over eat. Sometimes I eat so much, I get so tired I have go back to bed, and then sleep to my next breakfast buffet!" he laughed.

Mr Swivel currently looked through the menu. "You should see this," he said show it to Sophie, with his finger pointed on one line, written in a fancy font, Toasted Bread.

"That is toast," Mr Swivel said. "How can people be pretentious about such basic food?"

Sophie waited, mainly for Wilbert to finish his meal. Some of her thoughts told her she would need backup. Wilbert payed. As they walked on towards the Gatehouse. The ancient castle structure loomed over with a giant National Coat of Arms, supported by a pair of winged lions, and the sign proclaiming the name of the city. Several soldiers stood guard as they walked under the massive gothic arch. As they emerged from it, Sophie stopped with disbelief at what she saw. "Look how far we still have to go."

"Well," Mr Swivel said, "we're not going to get there stand here," both the Royal Ambassador and the Vice-Chancellor started up the half-mile courtyard to get to the Palace. Sophie dug for courage and energy and caught up with them. Soldiers, brightly coloured nobles and other such people of Kingsbury milled about the massive space. In the middle a crowd gathered around a cluster of small aircraft. Some of them took off with individual riding on them much like the girl who flew overhead Sophie and the statue some minutes ago.

Mr Swivel muttered to them, "I imagine it's a military fundraiser. Really, all this could have been avoided if King Rolland had not declared war of Strangia,"

Sophie blinked and turned to him. "I thought Strangia falsely accused us of kidnapping their Prince?"

"Oh," Mr Swivel replied. "They did, and they were preparing an ultimatum, which on advice from Ankh-Morpork and Überwald, may have recommended a third-party investigation, with recommendations included Commander Vimes, Captain Carrot and Captain von Humpeding as the authority of said investigation. However, a Strangia surveillance aircraft was observed flying over cloud cover above the Folding Valley, a fault in navigation equipment."

Wilbert interjected. "From reliable and verified sources, the Strangian Ultimatum would demand Strangian policemen free reign in an investigation, not any third-party, something Ingary would never agree to. And they were already moving troops towards the boarders. They wanted war, they just didn't expect the surveillance aircraft to go off course, giving Ingary a quote unquote, legitimate reason to declare war themselves, King Roland cited the aircraft as a violation of Ingary airspace."

Sophie shook her head. "So, who's on the wrong side?"

"Both," the two young men said together. And again, in unison, "They both went to war." Wilbert continued. "Lord Vetinari has sent me here to determine if we should back Ingary. Several nations are considering forming an alliance like the one with Prince Heinrich against Borogravia in the 1991 Kneck War. And with Borogravia against Prince Heinrich in the 1992 Kneck War," he sighed. "Only, who do we to ally with? Because one wrong move could trip up anything. The Kings of Ingary and Strangia think their moving chess pieces," he shook his head. "Everyone else can see their throwing dice."

Sophie shivered at this. Coupled with the words Wilbert and Sal said when the Strangian Military bombed Porthaven. She wanted this war ended as soon as possible and may be even before. Her third thoughts came to her; thus, she became aware of another step of steps, fast ones too, beside herself. She glanced back and then down. An old dog, of an undetermined breed, scurried beside the trotting goat. It did look quite mixed, Sophie suspected due to its size and little legs, a Llamedos Corgi existed somewhere in its heritage. She glanced around, seeing no one, not even Wilbert or Mr Swivel noticed the dog. So, Sophie whispered to it. "Howl? You disguised yourself as an old dog?"

The dog coughed. Not sure what to make it this response Sophie decided to continue with this train of thought. She sneered, always nervous of dogs, this one did not look reassuring. Howl must have done it out of spite. "You couldn't think of something more useful? Do you know how hard it is to do things when you're old?"

More steps, a slimy slushing sound, and the groan of wood caught her attention. A sedan chair, carried by two very familiar, lanky and masked figures trudged up beside her and the two men. The current of the side window lifted, a large eye and a noise, boarded by black fur and a fan stared out at her. "Look who's here," a musical but commanding voice, with an oily tone Sophie now recognised. "The tacky little girl from the hat shop,"

"The Witch of the Waste," Sophie hissed.

"Thank you for handing my scorching love note to Howl," Sophie glanced down at the door, it eyed the Witch grimly. Mephistopheles the goat looked ready to butt or kick the Witch as well. The Witch didn't seem to notice them. "How's he doing by the way?"

Sophie decided on some stretched honesty. "He's acting like a big baby. And he's working me to the bones as his cleaning lady."

The Witch chuckled. Presumably to disguise her cackle. "How delightful. So, tell me, what business do you have here at the Palace?" Sophie multiple thoughts quickly strung up an excuse. "Job hunting," she said. "I'm sick of working for Howl. And what about yourself?"

"I received a Royal Invitation," she proclaimed. "That idiot Suliman finally realised how much she needs my powers."

Wilbert scoffed. "If Madame Suliman wanted someone with the same magic as you, madam, she would have invited Mrs Earwig." Geoffrey nodded.

The Witch eyed the two of them the edge of her mouth shown became a sultry grin. "And who are these two handsome young men?"

Neither of them looked at her. Geoffrey straightened himself. "Geoffrey Swivel, Royal Ambassador of Lancre, and Calm Weaver."

"Oh," the Witch said. "The soppy little cry-baby Shire boy who that milkmaid thought could be a witch," Mephistopheles bleated a warning.

Wilbert narrowed his eyes. "That milkmaid, madam, defeated the Queen of the Elves at the age of nine, put the Wintersmith in his place when thirteen, and is the seventeen-year-old who expelled the rest of the Elves, King included, from the Disc. And that was ten years ago."

The Witch eyed him now. "Who are you to question me?"

"The Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University madam. Doctor Wilbert Weatherwax." The Witch's face darkened. Out gunned as it were.

Sophie decided to question her prowess further. "If you're so great," she asked, "Why don't you break the spell you put on me," her second thoughts stirred, but she ignored them, her angry at the Witch overruled it.

"I'm sorry dear," she said with a smile, evidently not sorry at all. "My talent lies in casting spells not breaking them," she proceeded to close the curtain finishing with, "Bye granny." Her henchmen increased their pace and past the five of them. Sophie shouted, "Now just wait a minute," she waved her cane. "You get back here right now!" she demanded. Nothing happened. Mrs Earwig must have gotten the magic walking stick wrong. She looked at the others and grumbled, mainly to the dog. "If I didn't have you to worry about, I would have clobbered her."

"You didn't need to hesitate on our account," Geoffrey said. "I'm usually against violence, but the Witch reminds me a bit of my Father."

Wilbert meanwhile, looked at the dog with narrowing eyes. He spoke nonetheless, "If Ms Throckmorton thinks Madame Suliman will let her have her own way, she's very much mistaken. She's a cunning sort," he pronounced Miss in the off-handed short way, not like when people used it for witches or women of high standing and reputation. Wilbert said it to subtly show his disrespect for the Witch of the Waste.

Wilbert's words seemed almost prophetic. Because as soon as the henchmen crossed the iron gates of the Palace, they started to deform, becoming feeble as they walked in between the lines of soldiers on guard. Finally, they collapsed into two piles of clothing unable to carry the sedan chair. The Witch peered out. "What the Disc is wrong with you two?"

A herald stood at the bottom of a huge flight of steps. Three sets of twenty on top of one other. On the left the soldier stood on every odd numbered step, whereas on the right they stood on every even numbered step. The poor boys must have been near fainting in the heat, Sophie thought. The herald addressed the Witch, "Sorry ma'am. Vehicles are prohibited beyond this point, you must continue on foot." He banged his poleaxe to emphasise the word foot.

"That Suliman," the Witch grumbled. She closed the curtain to her chair. "Using her magic to force me to climb all those gods forsaken stairs." The sound of inhaling permeated from the sedan chair before a sneeze shook it. The Witch emerged, showing herself to having needed to occupy every available space with her preferred transport. She swaggered grandiosely, as well as slowly, towards to steps.

Sophie, Wilbert, Mr Swivel, the goat and the dog past under the iron gate and felt no ill effects. Sophie saw the stairs getting closer and bigger. "Come on," she whispered, mainly to the dog. "We can do this, just act natural." They reached the steps as the Witch stepped onto the third, panting heavily as she did so. Wilbert, given his height and long stride, practically leapt up them. Mr Swivel went with a causal, formal, but still quick pace, compared to the Witch. Mephistopheles almost galloped beside him. Sophie hobbled, taking two movement to one step. Still, she past the Witch with little effort.

A cough from below made her stop and looked back. The dog stood, its head resting uncomfortably on the first step. Sophie groaned and hobbled back down. She bent down to hold the dog. Lifting it took some effort. She shuffled up the stairs, having to almost crab. "Howl," she groaned under her breath. "Why are you so heavy?" She overtook the Witch again at the sixteenth step.

"Wait!" the Witch called, "Help! I can't make it,"

Sophie reached the twentieth step which continued like a small path two the next set of twenty. Too focus on keeping the dog up, which may be Howl, she didn't look back completely. "What'd you say?" she asked loudly as she clambered onto the step. "You suddenly remembered how to break the spell you put on me?"

"I told you," the Witch said in between her lurching steps. Her neck becoming made of multiple folds of fat. How Howl ever though her beautiful would remain a mystery to Sophie.

"I don't know how!" the Witch continued, lumbering onto another step. The response only infuriated Sophie. "Then start studying!" she snapped and continued her architectural mountaineering.

Wilbert, who by this point reached the top flight, called down, "It's good advice to know how to stop a spell encase it goes wrong. After all, when handling magic, what you don't know, might very well end up killing you!"

The Witch looked up at Sophie and shook her head. "I don't get it. Where does she get all this energy?" She trudged onto another step.

A bell started ringing the hour. To Sophie it felt like age since she started ascending. Puffing she slowed to a stop. "I have to rest a bit," she put the dog down on the next step and held her knobbly knees, amazed at how they remained on her body. She afforded a glance back at the Witch who only recently started tackling the middle set of steps, and slugged her way up, nine steps below Sophie. As much as she hated the Witch, and despite what her second thought told her, Sophie could not help but feel sorry for the Witch. "Why don't you just give up?" she called down, "Your killing yourself!"

Sweating raindrops and verging on tipping point, the Witch strained her response, "I've waited," she wheezed a breath, "for fifty years now, to be, invited here," she hassled her foot onto the next step. "Ever since that Suliman, banished me to live in the Waste."

Mostly recovered Sophie, led by her second thoughts, decided to let the Witch try. The bane of Ingary, seemingly defeated by a flight of stairs. "Well good luck then. Too bad I not younger, or I'd lend you a hand," she waved her hand away to give emphasis to her sarcasm. She began to cox the dog.

At the top Wilbert chuckled. "Reg Shoe could give you a hand. It would probably come off, what with him being a zombie,"

The Witch, having to focus, only snapped at Sophie, "You, cold-hearted old hag, next time I'll turn you senile too!"

Sophie meanwhile, much to her relief, reached the top of the stairs. She put the dog down, so tried she didn't really care she rested it on its back. It's not a tortoise, she thought. And indeed, the door shuffled its bulbus body around and again shuffled out of Sophie's way, so she could take the final step to the top platform. She arched and panted, thankful once again for her stick. She crabbed around to look down at the Witch. "Almost there!" she called, between breaths.

"Honoured guest," said a voice from behind. "Please follow me.", Sophie glanced back at the splendidly dressed footman wearing white gloves, still somehow white despite the heat, now waiting at the large door. Sophie advised him, "You should go help her get up these stairs."

"I'm strictly forbidden to offer such assistance," he bent his knees. Sophie huffed. "Why that's so rude!" she tapped the stone floor. "The King himself invited her," and, she thought, wondered if she saw it correctly. Did that that young man seriously do a curtsied? As she waited for the witch, Sophie glanced around. Between his comment about Reg Shoe the Zombie, and Sophie arrival at the top, Wilbert disappeared, and she couldn't see Mr Swivel or his goat. She looked back to the footman. "You wouldn't happen to know where Wilbert and Mr Swivel are?"

"Ambassador Swivel and Vice-Chancellor Weatherwax have already been escorted inside to speak with the necessary representatives, His Majesty the King I'm afraid is too busy to see either of them right now,"

Sophie turned away, her second thought spoke up, His Majesty could also not want to see them. Instead of simply following the footman she decided to wait for the Witch. "Come on!" she shouted and waved her fist in the air. "Let's go! Don't give up now. Are you a witch, or aren't you?"

A sagging hat and deflated flabby creature shambled up the last of the steps with a breath groan. "Just shut up,"

Sophie did her best to contain her amusement, instead she disguised it as concern, "What happened? You look some much older."

* * *

 **Okay the _Lord of the Rings_ joke, both Sir Terry and Dame Diana Wynne Jones did there own in _Going Postal_ and the book version of _Howl's Moving Castle_ as Chapter 12 showed, so I did one of my own.**

 **I thought with the slow light bit Sir Terry wrote of in the early this would be a natural consequence.**

 **That bit about the statue is based on a First World War legend. One town, which I sadly forgot the name of had a building with a statue on top which survived the shelling and the fighting as the British defended the town from the Germans. Rumours circulated that if the statue fell down the town would be defeated. So according to the folklore British soldiers climbed the building to better secure the statue, while German soldiers snuck behind lines to try and loosen it. I may be getting things wrong, I heard it only once on a school trip to France and Belgium back in 2011.**

 **The Kneck Wars is what I'm calling the conflicts involving Borogravia, the 1991 war is documented in _Monstrous Regiment_ , named after the River Kneck, a central point in the region. It strikes me there is some parallel between the conflicts in that area and the Yugoslav Wars from 1991 to 1999/2001.**

 **When righting the climbing scene, I had a lot of trouble keeping track of which steps they reached, the numbers kept changing. The scene was both hilarious and uncomfortable to watch.**

 **I hope I did it justice.**

 **Next time we became a little more serious. Until then, farewell.**


	15. Chapter 15

Together Sophie, the Witch and the little dog too, entered the Palace itself. She remembered the card Howl gave her. She took it out of her pocket and gave it to the footman. Other footmen lined a red carpet, guarding courtiers.

In the distance someone shouted the introduction, "Mrs Pendragon and the Witch of the Waste," Sophie walked in, divested of her stick, she figured right now the Witch needed it more. As the Witch walked inside almost ready to collapse, and maybe putting a little drama in it, Sophie thought she should act more considerate inside the Palace. "Pull yourself together, isn't this what you've been waiting for?" And after all, Sophie reasoned. The Witch has only herself to blame for getting so unfit. She should have known the Palace would be so impractical. It is part of the showmanship of royalty.

The two witches, Madame Sorceress Pendragon and the Witch of the Waste continued down the carpet together. Another herald announced them. The name called for Sophie made the Witch stir. "Your name's Pendragon? Why does that name sound so familiar?" Sophie's thoughts collectively invented an excuse, "Uh. Because that was the name of my tacky hat shop don't you remember?"

"Is that what it was?"

At the end of the entrance hall another footman directed them into a room, some small lobby with the order, "Wait in here ladies." The door shut behind them as Sophie looked around. A fine collection, she thought. How many of them are original or convincing fakes? She could not tell. The slam of the door took her attention, she waited, expecting it to lock. It felt like something bad would happen, all her thoughts agreed.

The Witch gasped. "A chair!" Sophie turned and looked. Indeed, a single chair sat in the middle of the room, it faced away from the door and towards closed curtains. The Witch rushed to it. "It's mine!" she tiredly snapped.

Sophie let her have it. The Witch's actions, including the slump into the groaning seat, reminding Sophie of how she acted when she first entered the Castle. After a strenuous ascent like the hills of the Folding Valley, or those innumerable steps outside, it is only human nature to want a rest. The fact a chair coincidently sat waiting for the supremely tired Witch, only to Sophie apparently, seemed a little too convenient. Her thoughts told her something would happen. Unless the King liked to watch small plays by himself, which while plausible, Sophie felt this did not quite fit. No, she thought ominously. This seems planned. Wilbert said this Madam Suliman possesses cunning. I just hope she doesn't have anything plans for me. It didn't seem so, no other chair waited for Sophie's occupation.

The dog started to wheeze. Then it scurried to an alcove in the side of the room. Sophie turned concerned. "Howl! Get back here!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. With whatever would happen in here, and presumably the superfluous manner the court appeared to be treating them with, she didn't want to lose the dog, if indeed, it did turn out to be Howl in disguise, not to mention Howl's fears about the court, and Madame Suliman.

When the dog did not return, Sophie glanced at the Witch, occupied by her own relief, decided she would not be noticed and walked to the alcove to find the dog. Only, when she stepped inside, the extremely small space stood unoccupied, the dog disappeared. Howl must have done a disappearing spell, Sophie concluded as she entered. She took another look about.

A part of the wall slid aside. In the secret corridor now revealed, stood a youth, presumably a pageboy, wearing a dressed down version of the footmen's uniform. Sophie third thought added, he looks like a young blonde Howl. The pageboy bowed slightly and indicated with his arm down the corridor. "This way please ma'am." Sophie decided not to be around, whenever what happened to the Witch, happened. Quickly Sophie followed the pageboy.

She lost count of how many archways, corridors, lobbies they passed, one after another. A person could most certainly get lost in here, she thought. Now she wondered what happened to Wilbert and Mr Geoffrey. At every archway a footman inquired their business and then the pageboy boy led them on to the next personage in the next archway.

"Mrs Pendragon!" the voice of each echoed down the halls. They entered an anteroom with mirrors all around it. In them she could see her own little bent, hold on, not bend, she stood up straight despite her age, straight, hobbling shape in its fine tiny checked coat. A great many people in blue Court dress, so grand they demanded the capital C, others in suits as fine as the wedding attires Howl bought them the other day.

One of the courtiers hastened up to her and bowed. "Madam Sorceress! What a pleasure to see you again!"

The undersized young man, rather red-eyed. Sophie stared at him. "Oh, good gracious!" she said. "So, the spell worked!"

"It did indeed," said the small courtier a little ruefully. "I disarmed him while he was sneezing, and he is now suing me. But the important thing," his face spread into a happy smile, "is that my dear Jane has come back to me!"

Sophie blinked. He thoughts strung together a few connections. "Are you by any chance the Earl of Cataract?"

"At your service," said the small courtier, bowing.

Jane Farrier must be a good foot taller than he is! Sophie thought. It is all my fault. "Then I hope you and your Jane live happily together," hopefully with the way her magic worked, this encouragement, would make things okay.

The pageboy returned to Sophie. "Ma'am, your appointment is almost due," Sophie looked back at him and nodded. "Uh, yes," she turned back to the young Earl. "Do excuse me, I have things to do," the Earl bowed. "Of course, Madam Sorceress, but thank you, I shall most definitely be recommending your services to my associates,"

Sophie become more uncomfortable with the situation. "Well, uh," she realised she started to turn timid, she couldn't in front of an assembled Court. Sophie plunked up courage. "Thank you, your lordship. Do excuse me," and with cane in hand she did her best attempt at grandly following the pageboy.

Eventually they past under another archway and into a massive greenhouse. Full of tropical plants the like of which Sophie never saw in her life. Fountains over flowed to keep them alive, and she heard bird chirping.

At the end of the greenhouse, by the windows, four figures congregated. A middle-aged woman in royal finery, including a chain of office and a large staff, sat in an elegant wheelchair. An official looking man stood to attention before her beside a lesser chair, with three other officials in attendance on the offside. The main man bowed his head and said, "Thank you, Madame Suliman." His attachés followed with their thanks before the quartet left.

The pageboy told Sophie to wait until addressed. Then he walked over to woman, said something to her, walked behind the chair and around to the table beside. He opened the book on it. The woman took a quill and scribed something inside. Palace work, Sophie thought, must involve a lot of paperwork. After all, the grander requires payment, and payment requires signatures. The pageboy shut the book and took it with him as he left. The woman, who looked about thirty years younger than Sophie, sat back in the chair and glanced at Sophie. "So, you are Howl's mother, are you?"

Sophie felt unsure of herself, Madame Suliman she dreaded would figure things out quickly, but she might as well do what Howl wanted. She got this far, no way she could turn back. Not least because she did not have any idea of how to go back. She took a breath. "Yes, I'm Mrs Pendragon,"

Madame Suliman smiled, but not an although pleasing smile, more of a knowing smile. "You must be tired," she indicated with her hand. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you," Sophie mumbled, she did sit. The seat while fine and soft, did not make feel any less comfortable, especially now since she face directly at Madame Suliman, it felt like the conversion with Mrs Earwig all over again.

"I am Madame Suliman," her tone carried a hidden message of, I know you already know about me. "His Majesty's Head Sorceress."

Sophie did her best not to looked directly at her, in fear Madame Suliman's stare would be just as powerful as Mrs Earwig's. Then she saw, sitting lazily, under the little, wheeled, table, the old dog. It gave a little wheezing cough and tried to wage its tail. Sophie blinked, realisation dawning on her. She just wanted to double check, "That's not your dog, is it?" she asked.

Madame Suliman glanced down with her ever-present knowing smile. "His name is Heen," she paused slightly before adding, "He's my errand dog. I had him escort you here."

Sophie did her best to continue her emotions. She felt angry at herself for thinking Howl would disguised himself as the dog, forcing her to carry the mutt up those, unpleasant stairs. She felt worried at how Madame Suliman could know so far in advance to send the dog to her. But she also felt relieved to know Madame Suliman did not plan anything untoward her. Yet, her seconds thoughts butted in. Sophie gave a large sigh.

Madame Suliman continued her smile. "I take it Howl won't be joining us?" Sophie straightened up. "He's such a lazy son, he sent me instead," she put on her best frown. "I'm afraid the King would find him completely useless."

Madame Suliman put her hand on her chin and contemplated. "I'm very sorry to hear that," her smiled took on a slightly more reminiscent tone. "Howl was the last apprentice I ever took on," she paused. "I've never seen such a gifted student. I thought my work was done when I trained my son Benjamin, whom you probably know better as Wizard Suliman," she paused again and sighed. "And I procured him the post of a Royal Wizard, a secondary magical advisor should I be unavailable. Then Howl came through his uncle, and I saw at a glance that he had twice the imagination and twice the abilities as Benjamin, and, though I admit he had some faults of character, I knew he was a force for good. Good, Mrs Pendragon," she leaned back in her chair. "I was finally thrilled to have someone talented enough to replace me, and Benjamin could have focused on the family business."

Sophie turned surprised. Madam Suliman continued, "Then one day, his heart was stolen by a demon, he never returned to complete his apprenticeship, and from that day forward he has been using his magic for entirely selfish reasons," she paused, for slightly too long. "Mrs Pendragon," she said finally, with an authoritative tone.

"Yes," Sophie asked.

"That boy is extremely dangerous. His powers are far too great for someone without a heart," Sophie considered Madame Suliman's words, and she thought about some of the things Calcifer said, she began to realise some of his hints. Right now, she needed to do her best to keep the masquerade up, so she relegated these musing to back of her head.

"If he stays selfish," Madame Suliman continued, "I'm afraid he will end up just like the Witch of the Waste," she turned to the entrance of the greenhouse. "Send her in."

The pageboy, or maybe another, possibly a twin to the first, pushed a trolley. On it sat a small lump of black clothing and furs, with a wide brimmed and floppy hat. A winkled and flabby face, with a large nose and distant, thousand-yard stare eyes, poked out. As the trolley came along side Sophie gasped. "What the Disc happened to you?" The Witch, or whatever remained of her did not respond, she just wheezed with her breaths.

Madame Suliman answered the question, "I just restored her to the age she actually is. All her powers are gone now," Sophie looked up. The age she is? Sophie thought. I didn't look that old when the Witch first this curse on me. Mrs Earwig said she was sixty-eight and she studied with the Witch, but here? Her thoughts corrected her. Well, all I can see is her face, she might not be too much older, besides some people age better than others, I suppose the it could work the other way.

The Head Sorceress looked at the Witch with disgust. "Once she too was a magnificent sorceress with so much promise. But then she fell prey to a Demon of Greed, who slowly consumed her, body and soul," Sophie glanced between them. She fell prey to a demon? Then how many of her actions were her own fault?

"Our kingdom," Madame Suliman continued, "can no longer afford to turn a blind eye to these disreputable witches and wizards," she leaned closer and her voice once more demanded, "If Howl reports to me and vows to use his magic to serve the kingdom, I will show him how to break from his demon. If not, I will strip him of all his powers, just like her."

Sophie thought about this offer. Howl would be free of the contract, but then he would still be under oath to the King, and to Madame Suliman, most likely they would send him to fight in this pointless and destructive war. If her assumptions based on Calcifer's hints turned out to be true, what would happen to Calcifer? And would Howl still be able to teach Markl? What about Markl's relationship with Martha? Plus, on a selfish note, now the Witch could no longer use magic, how could she break the spell on her without the fire demon. Madame Suliman thus far made no indication she knew Sophie to be someone other than Howl's mother. She might be stuck as an old woman until she died.

All the emotion seeping from these thoughts, welled up and started to overflow. Sophie stood up. "That is enough!" the outburst caused Heen the dog to flinch. "Now I understand why Howl was so concerned about coming to see you, it's a trap! You lure people with an invitation from the King, and then you strip them of all their powers," even if the Witch of the Waste did deserve some form of punishment, she certainly did not deserve this. Howl most definitely did not. "Howl would never would never be so heartless. He may be selfish, and cowardly, and sometimes he'd hard to understand, but his intensions are good. Good, Madame Suliman. He just wants to be free."

Howl is no angel, she thought. But neither is he a monster. As she spoke, announcing her disgust at Madame Suliman's methods and her epiphany of Howl, of whom she now understood better, and viewed as a human being, faults and all, able to get her emotions out properly in a catharsis and not just venting them through work, her confidence increased. Her survival of Mrs Earwig and the revelation of her own magical abilities helped in making her less timid, but she kept those things to herself, as far as she knew, only Sal and Mrs Earwig knew about Sophie's magic. Here and now, Sophie felt like herself again.

"Howl won't come here. He doesn't need your help. He can fix his problem with his demon on his own. I'm certain of it."

Madame Suliman looked ready to laugh. "Now I understand," she said. "You're in love with Howl."

The assumption shot though Sophie, her confidence fled. Madame Suliman must have seen through me, she thought bitterly. Just when I was doing so well. To add to this blow, she now questioned herself. In love, with Howl? Could I be?

Something started pulling her at her dress. An aged voice asked, "Howl?" Sophie looked down, the Witch, or more correctly now, the old woman named Esty Throckmorton must have become aware at some point. "Did you say Howl's coming?" fluids began to escape from various facial orifices. She held onto Sophie's dress as she fell off the trolley, rambling, "I want his heart! His heart belongs to me!" she collapsed to the floor in tears.

Sophie now felt how Sal must have done when she intruded into the Castle, she felt sorry for the old woman, but Sophie also felt she the situation called for practicality. "Stop that," she advised taking the hands of Esty to pull her to her feet, "just calm down. Howl is not coming here, okay?"

The buzzing of a plane rumbled through the room. The aircraft flew over the sunroof and began to descend by the large windows on Sophie's right.

Madame Suliman grinned. "Oh, I think he will," she glanced to the plane landing. "I now know his weakness," she turned back to Sophie and added, slyly, "Mrs Pendragon,"

A pageboy walked to the window. Sophie turned to look at the pilot who walked up. The pageboy opened a door in the glass wall. Undistorted by the glass Sophie suddenly turned rigid. After seeing pictures, she knew what King Rolland looked like, or more, how he wanted to be portrayed. The King walked in with a marching swagger. Dressed on the green of the Royal Ingary Air Service. Hair so brunt orange, you would think his mother combed him with a frying pan. Bushy moustache. And with a similar build to Howl. He approached Madame Suliman. His Head Sorceress smiled. "Your Majesty?" the questioning tone did not escape Sophie.

"As you were," the King said as he stopped before her. He sounded quite young. "So then," he placed his left, and clenched hand behind his back, even from behind the pose struck grandly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Madame Suliman replied with a bow of her head.

"I thought I'd drop by, rather than sit through a dull war meeting,"

"What an honour," Madame Suliman said. Like with the questioning tone, Sophie detected a tiny hint of sarcasm, almost too dry to dowse. The King turned around and glanced at Sophie and the Witch, she caught his blue eyes, eerily they matched Howl's. "Who are your guests?" he asked.

"This is Howl's mother, Mrs Pendragon,"

"Ah," now he stepped to face them fully before he approached Sophie. He crossed his hands behind his back. Sophie remember Sal's advice on how to act as a witch, and possibly to spite Madame Suliman for thinking her some lovesick girl, she bowed before the King.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "But I've decided not to use magic to win this war," Sophie's eyes widened. She assumed the way things went at current, as far as she knew anyway, the King would want to use any advantage. The King explained, "We have tried using Madame Suliman's magic to our Palace, especially to protect my young daughter Valeria, from the enemy's bombs," he loosened his grand stance slightly. "But the bombs fall on civilian homes instead. That's the problem with magic," he glanced back to his Head Sorceress. "Right Suliman?"

Madame Suliman merely grinned. "You're so eloquent today Your Majesty."

A jovial shout came from the archway leading into the Palace, "Suliman!"

Sophie turned and flinched. The King approached, again. She glanced between the king standing in front of her, who, under the moustache, looked extremely put out by this sudden appearance, and the one trudging happily towards Madame Suliman with a piece of paper in his hand, waving it like a flag. Now she saw differences, and certain similarities. The document wielding one appeared quite handsome like the first, who she very much realised acted as this one's double, but the real King Rolland looked handsome in a plump, slightly vague way, and just a touch too proud of being a king.

The King ignored the guests and addressed Madame Suliman, "I've got a new battle plan!" he announced. "This time we're going to beat them to a pulp!" in his bravado he caught sight of the double, he paused, quickly eyed him and laughed. He turned to Suliman grinning. "Suliman that's the best double you've made of me yet! Ha! Keep up the good work!" and he swanked off back the way her came.

Madame Suliman smiled. "Your Majesty." The King disappeared to the archway announcing to the attendant stood to attention by the door, "Get my generals assembled,"

"Sir," the attendant replied and quickly followed.

In the awkward silence, following this, well, bombshell, Sophie considered what the King said about the double. The best yet? It looked like him, but not exactly. Presumably then, what King Rolland thinks he looks like.

Madame Suliman broke the silence and addressed the double, "So nice to see you again Howl," Sophie knew it, but Madame Suliman knew it first, Sophie just knew it.

The double of the King bowed with is left arm across his chest, he now spoke with Howl's voice, "You're looking well Madame Suliman,"

"Rather weak disguise," she commented, "didn't I teach you better?"

"I'm not trying to outwit you," Howl said, he quickly approached Sophie, put his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. His disguise dropped instantly between movements, she looked up at his slack jawed, however, he remained focus on his old teacher. "I kept my oath, I reported when summoned. Now, Mother and I will go."

Madame Suliman smile grew sinister. She raised her staff. "I'm afraid not," she tapped the bottom of her chair.

Reality opened. It closed. From under the chair a wave burst out. It grew to an ocean. Howl kept a tight grip on Sophie as the waves flowed over them. Sophie's thought made her focus. It's magic, she told herself. He feet felt light. Her dress kept getting pulled on. With both Howl and the King's appearance, Sophie quite forgot about the Witch of the Waste.

The ocean faded. In its place, the three of them stood, or floated, high in the clouds, above an expansive green landscape. The Witch began to fall. She gripped the helm of Sophie's coat. Howl's grip tightened too. "Now whatever you do," he calmly ordered, "don't look down."

It's an illusion, Sophie's third thoughts called. It's like gnarly ground and Headology. It's only real if you think it is.

Madame Suliman faded in before them. "It's time to show your mother who you really are Howl," an echo trailed her voice.

The sky above them brightened severely. A star fell. Very much like the one in Enlightenment Country. It sailed past them violently. A squadron of stars started to fall. Sophie shielded her eyes, less about the allusion, and more to focus on something other than the memories of the night with Markl.

She noticed Howl's hair react the flyby as well. Though she knew Howl understand an illusion, but apparently some part of the body will act regardless of mental input.

The stars encircled them. Sophie felt Howl's breathing intensify. An eerie choir started. Sophie did not understand the language, but she could tell the content. A spell. The stars grew bodies, just like the one she and Markl saw. They walked around them, holding their stick hand together. Playing Ring a Ring o' Roses with the trio. Howl's hand twitch. Sophie looked. A huge talon ripped through the white uniform gloves. Sophie gasped and looked up to Howl's face. Feathers grew around Howl's face. His teeth turned to fangs. He groaned. Clawed feet burst from the boots. Massive raven's wings unfurled from his shoulder blades.

From behind the processing ring of stars, Madame Suliman appeared. She lifted her staff. It started glowing red.

Sophie reached for Howl's transforming face. "Stop Howl! It's a trap!" A clawed hand reach around her back. Her stomach fell. Sophie caught a glimpse of the staff, spiking through her straw hat, and embedded in backboard of the chair. Howl's wings flapped. Accelerating them high into the illusionary night. They broke through the glass ceiling. Outside whatever grip Madame Suliman's spell did have on Howl let go. Howl returned to normal. However, without his wings the trio fell. But Howl, as a wizard, could still fly. He slowed them onto the plane. Grip the wheel and the engine and wings started. "Hold on," he said. Once more they left the ground. Quickly flying over both the garden and the outer walls of the Palace complex.

"Sophie," Howl called standing beside the pilot's chair. "Sit up here," gingerly Sophie inched her way to seat. As she positioned herself onto it, Howl asked, "Did you have to bring her with you?" while she sorted out her coat and dress as they flapped in the rush of wind, Sophie glanced back at the smiling face of the former Witch of the Waste. Sophie grumbled at Howl, "I didn't bring her with me, she held onto me," she glanced down at the distant and rolling away ground and muttered, "I guess it's too late to drop her off."

"Sophie," Howl said, seemingly oblivious to her comment. "Take the wheel,"

"What!" Sophie shrieked. "I can't fly! Are you kidding?" Howl deflected this by looking back and calling, "Their gaining on us!" Sophie yelped and looked behind as well, grabbing hold of the yoke of ship style steering wheel, while Howl made minor adjustments via the top arm.

Indeed, a squadron of small planes, with riflemen stood behind the pilots, approached in a shallow horseshoe formation.

Howl explained an idea, "I'll distract them, and you can fly this thing back to my Castle in the Waste."

"How?" she asked. "I don't know the way."

"Hey," Howl smoothly replied. "Don't worry. The ring that I gave you will guide you back home," he glanced at her still smiling. "All you have to do is summon Calcifer with your heart," Sophie looked at the ring on her right hand curiously. "Calcifer?" she mused. The tiny jewel on the ring started glowing, the light streaked into a point, directing her straight ahead. Sophie moved her hand about, the light point acted like the needle of a compass.

Howl interjected, "Just keep following that light and you should be there before dark." Sophie still protested at the idea of flying the plane, even if her life depended on it, "I can't do this," then her second thoughts added another question, "Why did you make me come here if you were coming yourself?" she snapped. Howl looked at her with his continuous smile. "Knowing you would be there gave me the courage to show up, that woman terrifies me, I can't face her on my own,"

Her second thought remained. First, he sweetly tells me I give him courage, then further reaffirms his cowardice, although given Madame Suliman's actions, I don't really blame him.

Howl then leaned in closer. "You save me Sophie," seeing her stern face he returned to look ahead while he continued, "I was in big trouble back there."

Well, her first thoughts interjected, glad to know I helped. Suddenly Howl let go of the wheel. Sophie yelled and looked at him, "Don't let go!" she jerked the wheel in desperation and they varied to the left. Missing the shots fired from the troops making their way through the streets of Kingsbury. The plane approached the open top of a building's tower. Sophie spun the wheel hard and fast to the right. The plane rushed though and opening and bounced hard of a pillar. Howl glanced down, and chunk of his uniform torn off by the small crash. He chuckled, "Wow, your good."

Sophie could tell sarcasm when she heard it. "Are you nuts!" she shouted back. Howl ignored her question and said, "We've got a good lead now," How? Sophie thought. When are pursuers are gaining on us. Surely the fighter pilots of the RIAS would not be incompetent enough to crash into a building.

Howl leaned in and continued his, sort of plan, "I can give you five minutes of invisibility, so use it wisely." Howl stood straight. Wave his arm in front of him. Very precisely. He slid sideways standing on a copy of the plane, passengers and all. Sophie felt very disorientated at seeing herself without the use of a mirror. The plane rolled to the right as she watched him, and the replica plane go to the left. "Howl!" she called concerned. He's an admitted coward, why did he do that?

"Good luck!" Howl saluted as flew away. Sophie watch him disappear into the sky. The plane jerked. Sophie fought to steady it. She looked ahead. A tree stood in the direction. Sophie pulled the control back as far as she could. The plane brushed the top of the tree. But thankfully they didn't crash.

* * *

Madame Suliman watched as two of her servant boys worked to pull her staff from the chair. Two others stood in attendance. One of them offered her a drink. She graciously shook her head. "No, not now," she smiled reassuringly. She glanced up as one of the other two return her staff to her. "Ah, thank you,"

Suliman, both her and Benjamin… She quickly glanced to Heen, her, errand dog, seemed a little conflicted now, understandable given his nature. Both her and Benjamin treated their Shikigami as people, you really needed to these days. She conjured only the number she needed to help her in her daily affairs and routine, and she gave them some degree of free will.

The Witch of the Waste on the other hand. Her Shikigami were nothing more than extension of her will. Like what the Evil Empire, which once dominated the lands widdershins of Wilinus Pass, tried to achieve with both orcs and goblins. Only rarely did she give one a life of its own, and only then as an escape plan. The Witch of the Waste could waste her magic on making a dumb army. Madame Suliman could get actual people to be an army which could think, to a certain degree, given the nature of transfiguration.

As the other one approached holding the straw hat, Madame Suliman spoke openly, "That was the most fun I've had in ages," she contained her laughter. "I suppose Howl thinks he's evaded me," she carefully took the young woman's hat.

Seeing Howl again, grown up and yet the same as ever, getting to exercise her magic. And meeting the young girl, who, she could see out of no fault of her own, ended up acting as, and, she thought, this time unable to contain her laugh, may very well become Mrs Pendragon. She could see potential in both. The spell she tried to cast, though ending up not as she would have preferred, gave her results.

"I bet his mother can help me find him,"

* * *

Wilbert peered around the corner.

Already he knew trouble occurred when armed soldiers exited the Palace and went to the street. At first Wilbert thought there might be an anti-war demonstration, which perhaps turned violent, and the government wanted to supress it. As Lord Vetinari and Mister Vimes ordered him to assess Ingary's top brass he needed to find out what happened. A detective is like a journalist, expect police detectives are allowed by the police to be noisy, because any findings they have are kept within police circles, well there supposed to be, somehow the _Ankh-Morpork Times_ has a way of finding these things out. Wilbert adjusted his attire to let the Not My Problem Spell kick in, pulling his trousers up high, pulling a handkerchief to hang out of his pocket and titling his fedora at a loose and goofy angle. So, he could get close and not get in the sights of a soldier who could not see him and would thus readjust their shot.

The soldiers took up position and started firing upwards. At a plane, being controlled by a woman. With a large black blob and a young man in uniform behind her.

Wilbert put his googles over his eyes and activated one of the functions. He zoomed in and focused on the pilot. The fuselage of plane crashed into a pillar holding up the roof of a building and caused it to turn. Giving Wilbert a clear view of the people on it. Howl in the uniform. Sophie piloting. And, someone, else, Wilbert would need to confirm his suspicions.

Quickly he rushed to the street with the Pendragon house. And now he watched as a platoon of soldiers surrounded the door. More soldiers arrived, passing Wilbert, add began to make a regiment, as the officer started banging on the door. Wilbert could only assume thanks to the clacks, a message would be on its way to Porthaven, knowing Madame Suliman, and having met her, presumably before Sophie did, he could believe she knew of Howl's secret identities.

The soldiers broke through and a section, including the officer, rushed inside. Wilbert smirked. They would be in for a surprise. The Pendragon house consisted of nothing but a disused stable. The door led to the yard. And in Porthaven, the sailors would find no one, and no upper floor either. And if Madame Suliman tried anything to infiltrate either Sal's cottage or Number Seven Elm Street. Firstly, it would count under espionage and sabotage since both door existed in foreign nations, and two foreign nations who did nothing to offend Ingary. And secondly, it would not do good for them, since the People, and the Witches, of Lancre would not take kindly, so there would be a reckoning. And thirdly and most importantly in Ankh-Morpork anyone breaking and entering would face the most efficient police force of the Disc, then be taken to Lord Vetinari. When you make an enemy of Vetinari, the scorpion pit is the least of your troubles, especially when you have done everything to anger him.

Wilbert made a note of this in addition to the ones he took after leaving the Palace and consulting with Geoffrey. The Royal Ambassador observed his meeting as a witch, and he found many things wrong, and Wilbert's detective, scientific and thaumatological eyes agreed with what he witnesses when speaking with Madame Suliman. He would have a lot to report with when he got back to Ankh-Morpork.

He headed for the train station, wondering how the Ambassador in Strangia faired in complying his report. He knew for a fact Ankh-Morpork would not ally with Ingary, but would they with Strangia? If not, what would they do? They needed to do something. Lord Vetinari would be stuck between and rock and a hard place. Of course, Lord Vetinari would be harder, but how hard, at which obstacle, with what weapon, and how many?

As he pulled his return ticket out he thought about Sophie flying the plane. She took to aircrafts like Esmerelda took to the broomstick. He only hoped she would be okay up there.

* * *

 **I couldn't really change much. Other than Heen not joining them in the escape.**

 **I like the theory Madame Suliman's pageboys are like the Witch of the Waste's henchmen, only far nicer and they kind of fit the idea of Shikigami so I used them here.**

 **See you all soon my friends.**


	16. Chapter 16

Sophie now understood what Sal meant by it getting cold up in the air, and the weather. The rain poured in bucket loads. Her clothes drenched through and the wet coldness stung to her bone. Her hands shivered. She could only imagine what flying on a broomstick would feel like. She just kept going as the crow flies. The light from the ring still pointed directly forward.

Below her she saw towns on fire, the aftermath of earlier Strangian bombing raids. She looked ahead. In a gap between the low grey clouds, giving the only advantage of cover high in the sky, Sophie saw a town. As they emerged from the cover and out of the rain she got a better look. She blinked.

Most of the town lay widdershins of the wide river, a substantial bridge crossed it. Sophie lowered the plane somewhat to get a slightly better view. This confirmed it. She glanced back to the Witch, who hide herself within her furs. "Almost there," Sophie called, "That's my hometown below us," she turned back to the view ahead, wondering what she would do, the Witch inside the Castle? Would Howl protest? She didn't have much of a choice, events went out of control. Although, Sophie's second thoughts added, I never had control of the situation to begin with.

Now with the town behind them, Sophie glanced back to watch it disappeared. She wondered how Fanny and Martha faired, would the war have affected them? How did her disappearance affect them? She regretted doing it, but she didn't want to become a burden to them. Again, in Fanny's case, her second thoughts said. At this thought Sophie turned back to watch the Folding Valley roll under them. How far to Star Lake? She wondered.

As they flew over the upper foot hills and began to border the Ramtops the crest of a hill revealed a familiar shape and discordant machine symphony. Sophie smiled. "The Castle is coming to meet us!"

Markl and Sal leaned out from one of the view decks, waving and shouting.

Suddenly Sophie released something. "Markl! Sal! Help me!" she yelled. "How am I supposed to land this thing?"

The Castle opened its mouth and shallowed the plane. They hit the inside building. A rumbling and shattering of stone and wooded rocked the living room. Footsteps sounded and Markl started calling for her. He then gasped, presumably he found the Witch. As Sophie got up and scrambled over the debris she heard Sal squeak. Before she heard Calcifer's response Sophie decided to give some brevity to the situation. "Markl," she sang, "I'm home!" Markl turned to help her. "Are you hurt?" he asked and stumbled on a loose stone.

Sophie smiled. Put her foot on a bit of rubble, only for it to collapse bringing her to the floor. Markl hugged her. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too," Sophie said glad to be back. "Thanks for coming to meet us," she threw away the battered steering wheel.

Sal hummed. "That's very sweet," then she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, only just making them cross before adding, "Wilbert is not going to be happy about this. First you almost ruin his great-uncle's boots. Now you crash a plane into his house," she shook her head. "Come on," she gingerly took the tongs and pulled a rock off Calcifer. "Let's clean up this up and make some temporary beds for you and our," she paused and grumbled, "guest." Sophie half expected Sal to spit.

Sophie sighed and went to get the broom. As she swept the debris out into the Waste she explained to Sal and Markl what Madame Suliman did to the Witch. "So, now she's completely harmless," Sal's visible eye narrowed. "I suppose," Sophie could tell it would take a lot to convince Sal, after all, the Witch of the Waste's actions did sully the reputation of honest hard-working witches. Her third thoughts tried to speak up, but her first thoughts, focus on the cleaning vetoed any further say.

* * *

The black door opened. Howl stepped up. His clothes even more tattered than when the plane wings tore the back. He smiled at the sleeping young Sophie. But frowned at the other sleeper. He slumped into the chair in front of the fire.

"You look terrible, Howl," Howl's eyes glanced at the fire, he expected everyone in the Castle to be asleep by now. "Calcifer?"

"Do you know anyone else stuck in the fireplace?"

Before Howl could respond, the colour wheel sounded and turned to the grey, no Wilbert kept correcting him, Octarine colour of Ankh-Morpork, he kind of hated being colour blind to Octarine. Thankfully given his psychic inclination he could look at the true reality.

Wilbert stepped in and gently shut the door. He looked toward the mess of the cubby hole, then to the old woman sleeping, and shock his head. Taking a stool from under the table he quietly joined Howl and Calcifer. Making himself comfortable he glanced at Howl. "The Kingsbury door is now useless," and explained what he observed. Calcifer then added, "Yeah, they broken into the Porthaven house too,"

Howl gave a small grin. "Well then," he said. "I have an idea on what to do," he explained his plan. Wilbert hummed. "I'd give it a day or two, you need to get the deeds done first. I'm just thankfully you don't want to go back to Elm Street, I don't think it would work without some serious reworking," Howl nodded and got up, "I'm tired," as he walked to the stairs he called to Calcifer, "heat some water for my bath,"

Wilbert shook his head sat in the chair Howl vacated and glanced at Sophie. She stirred and rolled over, muttering, he caught one piece, "…break the spell… don't understand… love you…" Wilbert raised an eyebrow and smirked. She then shook and turned from young back to old. Wilbert leaned back on the chair and began to think more deeply.

Sophie subconsciously admitted her affections. If they could think of a way for Sophie to admit it consciously and improve her confidence, it could go a long way to solving a few problems. Hopefully, they could think of something before the Witch of the Waste's curse reached its conclusion. He would need to speak with Sal to affirm his suspicions but right now he knew the deadline, the Eve of Small Gods about five weeks away, and given the events to occur he felt their time would soon fly.

Someone snapped their fingers. Wilbert flinched. Blinking he turned to see Sophie awake, aged and he heard the low rush of the bath taps from upstairs. Sophie looked at him unsure. "Did Madame Suliman do anything to you?" Wilbert shook his head. "She knew she couldn't, I was representing Ankh-Morpork, Unseen University and the Watch, if anything happened to me then they'd have the most powerful nation on the Disc against them," he turned to the alcove. "Don't you think we'd better clean that up?" she nodded. "I'll get dressed," Wilbert nodded. "That manoeuvre with the building, was that an accident?"

Sophie nodded with annoyed grumble. Wilbert chuckled. "Then I think the Lady is on your side. Those fighter pilots were caught off guard by the building, their formation broke up and it took them ages to reform," Sophie flinched and blinked. "Is that what Howl meant?" she mumbled to herself.

Chuckling Wilbert got up and headed for the stairs. "And I'll wake Sal up,"

"Shouldn't you get some sleep?"

"I slept on the train ride back," he rushed up to the second floor.

Sophie got dressed in her regular clothes, noticing Howl's changes to her limited wardrobe also extended to her everyday clothing, instead of the grey she arrived in, and spent most of her time in the Castle wearing, her dress appeared in a middling shade of blue, it almost glowed too. Sighing at Howl's actions without permission she went to the door and opened it to the Waste.

The Castle stood near a cliff edge above the cloud line, she slowly stepped towards the edge and stared out at the fluffy white blanket view toward the low sunlight, only interrupted by a pair of mountains. Seeing the world like this, it made her almost forget a war possible raging under those clouds.

Taps running caught her attention. She glanced back around to the open bathroom window with steam rising from it. Having got nothing from Calcifer to confirm her theories, although she did not need confirmation truth be told, she only hoped Howl could control himself in his monstrous form. When Calcifer said the contract between the two of them negatively affected them, she never expected this. Still, despite her dream, she knew Howl would remain himself under there. She would break the curse on him. And she didn't care about her own curse, being old is nothing compared to Howl's troubles.

A series of squelching thumps approached. Sophie looked up, she blinked and then smiled. "Hi, Turnip-Head," she did not expect him to be here at the Castle's new location so soon. Oh well, she thought. He's here now, he can certainly help. She turned back to look at the mouth of the Castle. "This isn't going to be easy," she stated.

Wilbert came outside followed by Sal and Markl. They agreed to a plan. Sophie, Sal and Wilbert would clean out the alcove and make an opening, then they would push the plan out, while Markl and Turnip-Head would guide it out with a rope.

The sun fully revealed itself by time everyone readied to get rid of the plane. The rope lassoed the plane, trailed down the tongue of the Castle's face, wrapped twice around Turnip-Head and ended next to Markl who held it with both hands. "Okay!" he called up to them, "Ready!"

"All right!" Sophie shouted back. She then joined Wilbert and Sal behind the plane. "Calcifer," she ordered. "Open it wider," as the mouth opened further, Sophie step beside Sal and called down, "Here we go," she and Sal started pushing, and Wilbert used his staff to try and lever the plane off the floor. The plane groaned seemingly comfortable. Sal pushed so hard she dented the metal plate armour. Sophie grew impatient, she groaned to it, "I said move!" then gave it a firm kick and added, "Now!"

Something inside the plane whirled and it shook. The wings started instantly and blurred in the motion. The three of them jumped. Sal tried to grip the plane as the wing dislodged, bore further into the wall and rattled through the hole. But, the plane's sudden desire to move started to outmatch Sal and her great strength. Her grip tightened, and she shouted down, "Get clear!" the plane's power continued and tore away from the Research Witch, leaving her on the floor with two dented stripes of metal in both hands.

The plane crashed on the ground and jittered after the retreated Markl and scarecrow. Before it caught up with them, it bashed into a rock. Vibrated further for a moment. The it collapsed into pieces. An oil leak fountained out of the machinery.

Sal went outside, her witchcraft made her the best to handle any injuries. But instead of finding Markl hurt, she found him laughing beside an excited scarecrow. There came a tap of Sal's shoulder and she turned to find a gremlin fluttering there. She squeaked. Her visible eye shook. "You're, you're not going to, uh, uh, attack the Castle," the gremlin grinned and shook his head. "Heard about what young Stuffy was doing, Wingco made the Sprog see reason. No," he fluttered down to the wrecked plan. "I'm here about this touch bottom kite," he went around it and tutted. "Looks like a complete write-off. Ah," he paused, and his lips moved. "This is an Ingary machine, RIAS property," he looked to Sal. "Care to explain miss?", Sal bit her lip.

Sophie meanwhile swept the dust out the hole in the wall with her work broom. "If I just hang a little curtain here maybe Howl won't notice." Wilbert shook his head. "There'll be a draft though,"

A knock came from the door. Calcifer flared. "It's the Ankh-Morpork door,"

"Ah," Wilbert said. "I think I know who this will be," he picked up his staff and grabbed his coat. Sophie hobbled over and watched as the Vice-Chancellor opened turned to knob to the grey setting and opened the door.

The young boy from the Duchess of Ankh's party stood there. Dressed in a rather old fashioned, perhaps even silly looking manner. A doublet fitted at the waist and ending in a point at the front under the plain brown belt and with a flat white collar over which he wore a cuirass plate armour with spaulders harnessed to protect his shoulders and upper arms. Puffed sleeves with a pair of corporal stripes and breeches. The colours of black, grey-green, lilac and scarlet ran in vertical striped up the cloth ensemble.

Wilbert nodded. "May I hazard a guess Corporal Vimes, that you are here to remind me of my appointment with Lord Vetinari, and are to escort me to there,"

Young Sam grinned and nodded. "You guessed correctly Sergeant. If you would follow me,"

"Wait a minute," Sophie snapped, she looked to Wilbert. "I don't know what Madame Suliman or whoever told you, but your government needs to know what's really going on," Wilbert just smiled, "Actually Sophie, I was about to suggest you join me, by the way those soldiers fired at you and broke into the Pendragon house, well, Lord Vetinari does like to be an informed ruler," he turned to Young Sam. "Can we just explain to are associates we're going out?", the boy corporal nodded, "So long as you don't keep the Patrician waiting," Wilbert nodded and walked to the hole in the wall.

As Wilbert shouted down to Sal and the others Sophie looked to the boy. "Do I need to dress smartly?" Young Sam smiled and shook his head. "No, Lord Vetinari sees all types of the people in all manners of dress. From Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler to Foul Ole Ron to Lord Downey and Lady Rust,"

Wilbert returned and slid his coat on. "Shall we be off then?"

As they followed Young Sam, Sophie couldn't help but compare the young man's uniform to the uniform his father wore the other night. Wilbert took noticed and explained, "Young Sam is a member of the Palace Guard,"

Even as a young boy he made a name for himself. Using the charisma, he inherited from his mother Young Sam joined the Cockbill Street Roaring Lads, a street gang in the Shade Commander Vimes joined in his youth.

Using his father's methods, he taught them guerrilla and urban warfare, he allowed non-human races to become member, the Roaring Lads effectively became the Police Cadets of Ankh-Morpork, the Young Sam even conceived a few to join the Specials.

Eventually the other gangs banded together to try beat them, this proved difficult, resulting in a blood feud. Only with the intervention of Sir Josiah Boggis, head of the Thieves Guild, Lord Downy, Master of the Assassins Guild, Commander Vimes and Captain Carrot was a truce brokered.

The gangs amalgamate under the name Shades Syndicate. Under the watchful eye of the Thieves Guild and the Watch, the Syndicate, act as the guardians of the Shades. Many older members upon reaching working age joined the City Watch.

Young Sam wanted to join the Watch too, but his father did not want him to. His progress in training and his work solving a complex murder case which allowed him to quickly jump rank to Corporal convinced Sir Samuel coppering seemed to be in the bloodline, but still neither he nor Sybil wanted to risk their only child.

Lord Vetinari suggested a compromise. Have Young Sam join the Palace Guard.

The Palace Guard, while merged into the City Watch for ease of organisation has remained autonomous answering directly to the Patrician. This is because nobles feared Sir Samuel would stage a coup d'état. Some eyebrows were raised, and monocles fell out, at the appointment, but no questions were asked.

Given the state of the Palace Guard back them. Stolid and dumb taking orders directly from the Patrician, including accepting all bribes, basically standing around looking angry and doing nothing, Corporal Vimes happened to be the highest ranked officer of the Palace Guard.

He redesigned the uniform. Knee breeches always formed part of Watch uniform, even when trouser became standard almost everywhere else. But the doublet dated back to the days of the founding of the Watch, in 1561 UC. Young Sam choose the colours as well. Black from the coat of arms of Lord Vetinari. Grey-green from the personal coat of arms of King Veltrick the First who founded the City Watch. Scarlet from the Vimes coat of arms, to recall the role the Vimes family has play in the Watch both past and present. And lilac as his own personal colour. His reasoning for such outlandish colours. "Anyone who can wear garishly striped pyjamas and suffer no fools, is not someone you want to mess with. Why do you think so many poisonous animals are so brightly coloured? We're telling you outright, 'Don't.'," When asked, "Don't what?" he replied, "Just don't."

Many of the older guards retired some from old age, others through embarrassment and Young Sam as de facto commander advised Lord Vetinari on who should replace them, namely former members of the Shades Syndicate, friends of Vimes and people he trusted, even a few he didn't but knew them to be good fighters. Young Sam is referred to as Chief.

The Palace Guard at current are an elite and selective unit, there less to protect the Patrician or the Dark Clerk given their training as assassins, but more the general staff who can't defend themselves, monitor and record movements within the building, and serve as the Patrician's Palace fire service, just encase.

* * *

At first the secretary, a Mr Drumknott, a tidy and exact youth in his mid-forties, escorted Wilbert into the next room and asked Sophie to wait outside. She waited for perhaps half an hour, maybe more. The door to the room opened and Mr Drumknott stepped out, still with his clipboard in hand. "Lord Vetinari will see you now ma'am," he pulled out his clipboard and took a pen from his pocket. "But first can you please clarify something for our records, are you Miss Hatter, or Mrs Pendragon?"

Sophie sighed. "It's Miss Hatter," and she explained about the rouse Howl created. Mr Drumknott nodded and put his pen away. "Thank you, Miss Hatter, please follow me," and they entered the room.

Wilbert explained the Rat Chamber. The conference room of the Patrician's Palace. Called the Rat Chamber, in theory, because of the decorations; some former resident of the palace, formerly the Royal Winter Palace of the Kings of Ankh, decide rats looked artistic. Frescos of dancing rats, patterns of rats woven in the carpet. On the ceiling rats danced in a circle, reminding Sophie a little too much of the dance stars from yesterday. Wilbert added after half an hour in the room, most people wanted a wash. Lord Vetinari properly chose this room as politics should be an uncomfortable matter.

Then Wilbert explained about the axe. Embedded in the long mahogany table so deep it almost split the table down its length. No one knows who put it there, not even Vimes, he carefully does not admit it. But everyone knows why it is there. Just as with Sir Samuel Vimes's ancestor, Suffer-Not-Injustice "Old Stoneface" Vimes, wherever there is corruption, there is the axe.

Old Stoneface is a divisive historical figure. He executed the last King of Ankh-Morpork.

Mrs Conran made the point of informing Sophie, the Kings of Ankh-Morpork are different to the Kings of Ankh. The Kings, and Queens of Ankh who founded the Twin City over four-thousand years ago are acclaimed as ideal rulers, brave, wise, just, charismatic and so on, plus being, of course, extremely powerful. But they died out some two-thousands years ago, around the time of the founding of Unseen University. Although hope and rumour persist of an heir somewhere.

The later Kings of Ankh-Morpork claimed the crown though conquest rather than anything more long-lasting and substantial. They are remembered, with maybe some exceptions, for recurrent lunacy, sadistic cruelty and general bloody-mindedness. Over those centuries the nobility brushed it away. Nothing wrong with whips and needles, they would say, in moderation. However, things came to ahead, or more specifically, things came to off a head, when the revelation of King Lorenzo the Kind's, extreme, fondness, for children came to light. Old Stoneface, faced with the fact no judge wanted to preside over the trial, and by his authority as Commander of the City Militia, and defending the crown from an unworthy wearer, executed the criminal king by himself.

Sir Samuel Vimes followed in his ancestor's advice. A Vimes trait is incorruptibility.

During one of the assassination attempts on Lord Vetinari, the City Council, mainly the nobility on the advice of Mr Slant, a zombie, and head of the Guild of Lawyers, working in secret for the orchestrator of the assassination, the Chief Herald, the vampire known as Dragon King of Arms, proposed reinstating the monarchy, with Corporal Nobbs, supposedly the Earl of Ankh, as king. Nobbs refused on the grounds Mister Vimes would go spare, and this gave time for the Commander to figure things out. Coincidently axe appeared on the table soon after the College of Heralds burned down and when Vimes visited the palace.

Representatives of the varies Guilds, the noble families and several top citizens sat or stood around the table. Basically, anyone who by right should be there, and anyone how thought they had a right to be there.

Lord Vetinari sat at the far end. Commander Vimes sat next to him on the right, with Young Sam behind him. On his left sat an impressively big man in a traditional wizard's attire, with hunting and finishing additions, most notably the small crossbow tucked into his pointy hat ribbon. Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully as Wilbert described him. Wilbert himself stood behind the Archchancellor, and beside him a bespectacled wizard in green, Sophie noticed a few grey strands under his hat, and a small scraggly black goatee beard. Ponder Stibbons.

Wilbert smiled at Sophie and pointed up with his staff. Sophie followed to find hanging via the chandelier, an orangutan with a bunch of bananas, a bag of peanuts and book on his knees. Wilbert explained about the deal with the Librarian.

Sophie returned to the Patrician. He looked at her, then with his cane, banged the axe, the metal rang, and the room fell into silence. The silence went on for a few seconds longer than should have before Lord Vetinari steepled his fingers. "The Vice-Chancellor tells me you also encountered Madame Suliman, Head Sorceress of Ingary. Please, tell us all about it,"

Sophie gulped and began to explain. "I should start with arrival of the Witch of the Waste,"

Even so often as she explained, a representative would mumble something to the other. A stare from Vetinari would stopped them.

When she explained about the spell, everyone looked to the Archchancellor. Who intern turned to Stibbons. The Head of Inadvisably Applied Magic began to scratch his head. The Librarian jumped down beside Wilbert and passed him the book, shrieking and pointing at a page. Wilbert and Ponder both looked at it. Mr Stibbons explained as he read, "It appears to be a variation of Edward Nearenough's Subjugation Ceremony,"

Wilber nodded. "I can think of a few things Madame Suliman may have wanted to do. Either to rid Howl of his magic, or more likely, overlord him, and forcibly conscript him to join the war,"

Before anyone could question this Lord Vetinari raised his hand. Everyone froze.

Sophie opinion of the Patrician. Contradictory on the surface. In his late seventies, with his pale, equine face, you would think he would be incline towards stuff the nobility would brush under the carpet as acceptable behaviour of a tyrannical leader. But according to Wilbert, the Patrician apparently spent his evenings studying reports and, on special occasions, if he could stand the excitement, playing chess, or Thud, sometimes on long distance via the clacks. Acting as a decent, quiet, but pragmatic man made the nobility worry, they did not know what he would do. With a madman you knew where you stood, on the receiving end of something, and as so they could act accordingly. But with Vetinari you couldn't be sure if he would reward or punish, or in some way manage to do both. Hence all the attempted to get rid of him.

Lord Vetinari remain uncomfortable silent as he stared at Sophie. Finally, he raised an eyebrow. "And you're are certain that all did happen?"

Sophie grumbled. "I saw it with my own eyes. You can't make stuff like this up,"

Commander Vimes scoffed. "The _Ankh-Morpork Inquirer_ tries though,"

"Thank you, Commander," Vetinari said. "However, do lean towards believing Miss Hatter,"

"As well you should," the Archchancellor said, more blustered, "doing that to a wizard, when he rightfully refuses, it down right criminal," he smacked the table. "Don't you agree, Sam?"

Vimes lit his cigar. "There's got to be some form of Criminal Exploitation charge in there somewhere. We can definitely put attempted slavery on the list, I'll have Carrot look at the Laws and Ordinates."

Sophie blinked. "But you're a policeman from Ankh-Morpork, Madame Suliman is the Head Sorceress of Ingary,"

"So?" Vimes asked. "I arrested two armies, in Klatch on a charge of breaching the peace, which a war definitely falls under, not only that, but if this does carry on as Wilbert predicts, we also charge her with conspiracy to end the world, we did that with Cohen the Barbarian, that happened on the home of the gods, and he still the bleeding Emperor of the Counterweight Continent!"

Young Sam hummed briefly and tap a finger on his chin. "Can we not do something like the Six Nation Alliance during the Kneck Wars, only just against both nations? By now most other nations can tell this war needs to be ended,"

Vetinari nodded. "That may very well be the best course of action," he eyed Sophie coldly. "Miss Hatter has put us in an awkward position. We may not ally with either nations, however, contrary to what some might think, inactivity is different from maintaining peace, it is merely brushing matters under a carpet. If we do not grab the situation by the collar, it will have us by the throat."

Sophie titled her head. "Pardon me my lord, but what has Strangia done to mean Ankh-Morpork wouldn't support it?"

Lord Vetinari turned to Drumknott. A piece of paper appeared before the Patrician and he examined it. "Our Ambassador to Strangia, one of my dark clerks, reported the use of torture and forced labour upon Prisoners of War, unsuppressed violence against foreigners, including Ankh-Morpork nationals," he returned to Sophie. "As you can probably tell, allying with a nation which allows attacks on our citizens would be extremely questionable," he then glanced around at the people attending the council meeting. "As such I call for an advisory vote on the matter. Either we remain neutral and wait for whatever the conclusion of the war shall be. Or as Corporal Samuel Vimes the Younger, esteemed head of my reformed Palace Guard and a founder member of the Shades Syndicate, suggests, we and our associate nations form an alliance against both Ingary and Strangia to reign in the violence,"

* * *

 **Yeah, I decided to skip the dream, I don't deem it as necessary to the story.**

 **Young Sam's position in the Palace Guard is how I would think things would go. It's safe to assume, since every man of the Vimes family, since at least Old Stoneface, has been a member of the Watch, but I don't see Commander Vimes allowing Young Sam frontline/ street action.**

 **The deal between the Watch and the Shades Syndicate is like the police and the prostitutes of Old Town in** ** _Sin City_** **.**

 **I based the uniform of the Palace Guard on the Pontifical Swiss Guard, for similar reasons stated in the story.**

 **So, I gave Ponder Stibbons a small beard. And?**

 **The name Edward Nearenough. I took from a couple of demonologist. And Nearenough is a roundabout reference, one was called Rudolph and Morecombe and Wise made a joke of Rudolf Nureyev mistaking his name as Near-enough.**

 **What Wilbert suggests is one of the fan theories as to what Madame Suliman planned to do, but as stated it is just a suggestion, I'm not implying that was her plan.**

 **On a side note on character voices, at least in my head when I read them. Joss Ackland was perfect casting for Archchancellor Ridcully in the live action adaption of** ** _Hogfather_** **, so I imagine his voice whenever I read him in the books. For Lord Vetinari, Charles Dance played him so perfectly in the live action adaptation of** ** _Going Postal_** **, although I'm not entirely confident with the choice of actor for Drumknott in that one. Michelle Dockery play Susan Sto Helit to a T.**

 **And, jumping ahead a bit, after stumbling across the first Discworld video game, I can't help but hear Eric Idle as Rincewind.**

 **I personally think personally prefer Sir Ian Richardson, the voice of Death in** ** _Hogfather_** **to Sir Christopher Lee in** ** _The Colour of Magic_** **and the Cosgrove Hall animated adaptations.**

 **My reasoning? People say Sir Christopher Lee was prefect casting. But I think it's a case of too prefect casting. You would expect Dracula and Saruman, be play the personification of death in something. You don't expect Francis Urquhart from the BBC adaptation of** ** _House of Cards_** **to be the voice of Death in anything and yet be so spot on.**

 **What do you think?**

 **So long for now.**


	17. Chapter 17

Lord Vetinari turned to Drumknott and nodded. The secretary nodded in return and pulled his clipboard out. "Starting in alphabetical order, we shall hear first from the Guild of Accountants and Usurers, Mr Frostrip?"

A man in a business suit stood up. "We of the Guild of Accountant called to remain neutral my lord," as he began to sit down he noticed the Patrician's rising eyebrow, so returned to standing. "Our reasoning is this, action against waring nations will cost money our client will prefer to keep, and in the aftermath, we may wish to advice any new clients from both Ingary and Strangia on where best to, invest their capital,"

Sophie's jaw dropped. "You want to turn Ankh-Morpork in a tax haven?"

Frostrip coughed. "We neither confirm nor deny these claims," and sat down.

Drumknott nodded at whatever Lord Vetinari told him before returning to the crowd. "Will the representative of the Actors' Guild please make their entrance?"

A youth of forty stood forward and bowed. "Ladies and Gentlemen, myself and my family's esteemed company of formerly strolling players and fellow associates of the theatre, will support any action that will swiftly end the conflict. In times of war most will not want entertainment of the stage. Our makeup shall flack, our stage boards will rot, and our trapdoors will rust. War is likened to an apple, smooth juicy and applying to the eyes on the outside. Rotten and foul at its core. It is therefore just to take arms against the seas of trouble and by opposing end them," he bowed and returned to his previous position.

Vetinari nodded. "Eloquently put as ever Mr Vitoller. It is the Alchemists next I believe,"

An old man with chemically stained hands and little weaselly eyes stood up from a chair. His slightly singed clothing included a heavy duty embroidered name of: THOMAS SILVERFISH. "Myself and the membership agree to action of any kind. It gives us added reason to work to create the necessary mixtures and helps us develop new one," he flinched and added, "With your lordship's approval of course,"

"Duly noted. Who is next Drumknott?"

"The Ancient and Alluvial Lodge of the Fraternal Herders Association my lord," also known as the Worm-Herders' Guild, they abstained.

Next, another group with an overly-long name, the Ankh-Morpork Order of Postal Workers Benevolent and Friendly Society. The voted to remain Neutral as members having to deliver messages in a warzone would risk their lives, and the society could not afford the possible mass funeral costs.

A man in his seventy, with a top hat and small black beg resting on the table stood up next, Dr John Lawn represented the Society of Apothecaries. "As we did during the Kneck Wars, the Society, while objecting to conscription of its members will support the action as the medical section,"

Vetinari nodded. "Of course, Dr Lawn," he nodded the Drumknott and the clerk cleared his throat. "The Guild of Archaeologist, Antiquarians and Tomb Evacuators,"

Tomb Evacuators? Sophie's second thoughts asked. That is some very crafty marketing. For these well named adventures stood from her chair a lady of thirty-eight. Dressed in black and thought covering her body entirely it hid nothing of her athletic and, gifted, figure.

An elderly gentleman dressed completely in black as well spoke up. "Miss Band?"

The lady sighed. "Yes, Lord Downey, I am aware I am a member of the Guild of Assassins, a Faculty member of the Guild School," she paused and looked at the Lord as a silent third membership of something passed between them. Miss Band then cleared her throat. "However, before I took my Father's position in the Guild, I was a fully paid up member of the Archaeologist's Guild, I have done several digs, including with my late Mother, Laredo Cronk. I speak in their interests. As archaeologists, we want action to be taken. Historically, in many war areas, archaeological sites and historic monuments were disturbed, damaged or looted. We would also like to discuss the creation of an archive program to safeguard historic and cultural monuments from war damage, to find and return works of art and other items of cultural importance that had been stolen by enemy forces or hidden for safekeeping,"

Lord Vetinari nodded. "Even if we don't act against either nation militarily I understand the importance, I will discuss it with Mr Robinson later then. I call for the opinion of the Guild of Architects."

The Guild President explained they would abstain. Since there would be little call for architecture during a war, and since no member of the Guild has worked turnwise of Quirm. No one would be able to make a comprehensive architectural map of either nation. After him stood in rapid succession, the representatives of the Armours and Artificers, the dwarf Mr Burleigh for the Armours needed to stand on his chair. Both pushed for action on similar grounds to the Alchemists.

Lord Vetinari spoke particularly to both, and to the Mr Silverfish, "I do hope, I do hope, that you have been more considerate towards who has received your business in recent years. You may recall that one of my fears in the Almost War with the nation of Klatch, was that the enemy were as equally arm as we in Ankh-Morpork because we provided them the weapons for their, internal conflicts. I do not wish to repeat myself, gentleman."

After an uncomfortable pause a woman stepped out from the crowd. She bordered on middle age. Short cut and untidy hair. A face set in a permanent sulk. Could be described as attractive from some well-chosen angles, some more than others. Dress in dungarees stained with blotches and streaks of paint. Sophie noted one of her ears, seemingly subjected to serious violence, or a piercing operation gone terrifically wrong.

Vetinari smiled dryly. "Ah, Miss Daniellarina Pouter. May I enquire if you have anymore, modern artworks, to display? A plain uncut rock? Balloon animals perhaps?" Miss Pouter just glared. Vetinari continued. "I understand an artist's right to express themselves, however I have the right to disapprove of the silly, pointless and purely offensive, and express my views and explain the meaning behind my works as well, I am a very, vivid critic of current artwork,"

Miss Pouter put her hands on her hip. "Just because I don't adhere to the methods of the masters, something William and Les Jackson do, doesn't mean it's going to go away. I'm not pushing it out, I just saying anything can be art, nature can be art. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and people don't have to be told what they can and can't enjoy. I'm not trying to shock anyone, and my art is not offensive,"

"Many of the classically trained artist have made statements with their work Miss Pouter, but not at the expense of the visual excellence." Lord Vetinari took a breath. "This is a discussion for another time. Miss Pouter, what does the Artists' Guild believe we should do?"

Miss Pouter ran a hand through her already messy hair. "We want something done. Many of us, both classically trained and aesthetic relativist, find war a great subject. We want the opportunity to further artistic excellence of Ankh-Morpork,"

Sophie contained her anger. So far, five of the guilds wanted to use the war as an excuse to further their own gains. She could give the Apothecaries and Archaeologists a pass since due to their goals this situation would help society. She could not for some the others. Exploiting the suffering of thousands, if not millions of lives, simply to make a profit!

Lord Downey of the Assassins' Guild stood up distracting her. "The Dark Council agrees this war will cause instability and should not be allowed to go much further. However, as per our Guild rules a level a secrecy must be maintained. You understand my lord."

"Naturally," Lord Vetinari replied.

"But," Downey added, "If the need for covert action is required, do not hesitate to apply for a commission,"

The Bakers' Guild abstained.

A balaclava wearing figure worked his way out of the crowd, stating he represented the Bandits' Guild. How a Guild centred about highway robbery could exist, Sophie could not fathom. The anonymous representative said war disrupted trade and excursions, thus the Guild would lose out on its main source of income, getting payed not to steal from wagons and carriages, and it would mean no exercise for members with the means to perform authentic hold-ups to entertain the passengers on the otherwise dull journey. How authentic are these performances? The person didn't say.

Sophie sighed, this would take some time. Her legs started to ache. A chair appeared under her. She looked around but could not see anyone who moved. All except Lord Vetinari smiling kindly at her. It did not improve her view on him.

Dr Peristyle Slack of the Guild of Barber-Surgeons said his Guild would be favour of action. Before offhandedly mentioning their centuries of homegrown expertise would be far better use than the foreign practises adhered to by the Society of Apothecaries. This causes sharp glares from Dr Lawn, and both the Vimes. From what Sophie understood Barber-Surgeons tend to perform bloodletting, cupping therapy or pulling teeth and cutting hair, although this latter service has been cracked down on by the formation of the Guild of Hairdressers. While the Apothecaries do things which make people better, Dr Lawn for example, before his retirement worked as head of the Lady Sybil Free Hospital, one of the most renowned medical instructions on the Disc.

The next person to stand up made Sophie blink. Dressed in a gown of velvet rags, a face covered in warts and hair styled by an electric shock and a jar of treacle, some in layers. She cackled. "Morning guvs, anyone got some silk dresses to spare?"

Vetinari grinned. "I'm afraid not Queen Molly. What is the opinion of the Beggars' Guild?"

"Well me lordship, wars means refugees, don't it? That means more beggars about. Course, this could be both a good and a bad thing which way you looks at it. Us of the Guild have decided to abstain," she grinned, showing a small bit of black teeth. "Whatever that means," she sat down.

A man from the Benevolent Company of Rope Makers and Braiders said they would agree to action. Sophie understood they themselves were based in Great Slack, one of the furthers away towns on the Sto Plains line of the Hygienic Railway. A few the more recent Guild must use the railway line to commute, she thought. If people move out of the city following the railway businesses must too, or indeed move in. Theirs is the adage, all roads lead away from Ankh-Morpork, but sometimes people just walk along them the wrong way.

Lord Vetinari spoke. "Would the representative for the Guild of Butlers, Valets and Gentleman's Gentleman please attend us?" An old man in a finely pressed suit stepped out and bowed his head politely. "You call for me sir?"

"Ah," Vetinari said. "Mr Willikins," he glanced to the slightly surprised Vimes pair. "I can only assume Lady Sybil gave you the time off?"

"Yes sir. The Guild requested me personally, as Mr Holdfast has taken ill, the Guild thought I would make a suitable replacement. As to our decision," he paused to look at the members of the nobility. "As a servant we must follow our employers' decision, and many of those who would wish action, especially those of long noble descent with Regiments at there, occasional disposal, as such, we choose action against the offending nations, as it gives our employers something to do, and thus a change in pace for us. Thank you, my lords, my ladies," he bowed again and retreated into the crowd.

Drumknott sniffed at the next and sighed. "The Guild of C dot, M dot, O dot, T dot Dibblers."

An old, skinny and weaselly figure in a huge overcoat stood up from a chair. Sophie recalled hearing the name Dibbler mentioned at Lady Sybil's ball. She could not see someone like this being an upper-class member of society anywhere. Then she noticed the things he carried on the big tray hanging from his neck. First a couple of erroneous looking sausages in buns, and a small pile of, well, gentleman's special interest magazines. Then Sophie remembered. Toplis and Dibbler Publishing.

It started off small but as the business basically existed at the bottom it would take quite an effort to fall. And contrary to what people thought, Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler did not dig himself into a hole, expect if he could see both the profit in it and a quick escape route. Somehow due to this it worked. Now the logo of the enterprise, a cartoon rendering of a weasel with a bowtie, is one of the most recognisable symbols in the modern world. Mr Dibbler claims the meaning stems from Leonard of Quirm's painting Woman Holding Ferret as an epitome of high-class art and the bowtie to demonstrate the intended demographic.

Mr Dibbler smiled. "Me and Mr Toplis got thinking. While it's true action would mean me Sausages-in-a-bun business would drop. But, we were also thinking, the lads at the front are going to need things to keep up moral. So, we call for action, if it means we can sell our, top-quality works for the discerning connoisseur of art, at a discount price. And that's cutting me own throat," and so he sat down.

The Carters' and Drovers' Guild chose neutrality. In rapid fire announcement the Chefs, Clockmakers, Confectioners and the Conjurers all abstained.

Next stood an old man in religious dress. Sophie glanced between him the Archchancellor, they look the same, only subtle differences and clothing would tell them apart. He spoke with the same blustering, but perhaps more reverent voice of the Archchancellor. "The Council of Churches, Temple, Sacred Groves and Big Ominous Rocks, have prayed to our respective deities and central figures for guidance on the matter. However, as we have had no reply, which the University attributes of the war's action on the Disc's magical field scrambling our sacred messages to and from our patrons. Faced with this we have unanimously decided to abstain,"

Vetinari nodded. "Thank you, High Priest Hughnon Ridcully."

Drumknott trudged at his collar. "Next is the Guild of Ecdysiasts, Nautchers, Cancanieres and Exponents of Exotic Dance,"

Now Sophie started blushing as she worked through the name. Ecdysiasts are, literally, strippers, the term being coined by some influential but racist journalist back in 1940 UC. Nautchers refer to Exotic Dancers of the type done in Klatch, where you in fact wear a fair amount of clothing, which only makes the watchers more curious to discover what is underneath. The Can-can is a Quirmian dance in which mainly the features are the lifting and manipulation of the skirts, with high kicking and suggestive, provocative body movements. And Exponents of Exotic Dance is self-explanatory, and in many ways revealing.

Sashaying forward, much to the delight of a lot of the younger members, both male and female, to the awkwardness of the married individuals, the jealousy of older women, and the determent of the old men, a thirty-three-year-old girl. Extremely good-looking. Some goddesses would kill for her looks, maybe even Sal would be jealous. Thankfully given her profession she wore modestly, but practically anything is modest in her case. She stood, artistically in front of the gathered.

Vetinari remained cold and calm. "Miss Betty? Or is it Tawneee?"

"Either will do," she said in an angelic voice. "My Guild will call for action. Just like Mr Dibbler we provide a service. Since many of our customers would be joining the Regiments, well, it's a simple matter of relocation,"

"Capital," Vetinari said, "Thank you," he waited as most of the room focused on her swaying, figure. "The Guild of Embalmers and Allied Trades,"

This alliance of undertakers, gravedigger and morticians choose neutrality on the grounds of having too much work all at once.

Next stood a woman who Sophie suddenly recognised. The female reporter for the _Ankh-Morpork Times_ when the railway came to Market Chipping. Back as a young girl she did not notice much about adults, but as one now she noticed a lot about this woman, she possessed quite a lot to notice. The Daemon boy from Lady Sybil's party resembled her, and as the woman stood up she briefly glanced to one the noblemen sat around the Patrician, the Commander and the Archchancellor, the man she saw Howl talking with, and whom Daemon resembled as well. Sophie put two and two together. And the Patrician confirmed it, "Ah," and he said in a droll, "Miss Cripslock. Forgive me, I am still adjusting to the changes within the Guild. I was surprised at the announcement of Mr Carney to step down,"

"Most of us in the Guild were," Miss Cripslock said. "Anyway, we of the Guild of Engravers and Prints vote for action. However, as with the Kneck Wars we of the _Times_ wish to be afforded protection of the press,"

"Of course, thank you Madame President," as Miss Cripslock sat down the Patrician called for the next person. "Dr Whiteface, what is the Fools' opinion?"

The clown sitting at the table stood up. Sophie always wondered why so many people feared clowns. She heard it all before.

Clowns were not funny. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns is, after watching them, anything else following seemed enjoyable.

But even clowns are frightened of something. The white-faced clown. The one who never gets in the way of the custard. The one in the shiny white clothes, and the deadpan white make-up. The one with the little cone shaped hat and the thinly painted mouth and the delicate black eyebrows.

Dr Whiteface.

While everyone, aside from the Patrician and a few of the more experienced City Council members, looked at the Head of the Fools' Guild with unease, Sophie looked at him perfectly calm. Coulrophobia she understood mainly revolves around the appearance. The exaggerated facial features and body parts, such as hands and feet and noses. This can be read as monstrous or deformed as easily as it can be read as comical. The significant aberrations in a clown's face may alter a person's appearance so much it looks lifelike enough to be disturbing, but not realistic enough to be pleasant, thus frightens a child so much they carry this phobia throughout their adult life.

However, to her most clowns must have become so to entertain people, make them fell joy and happiness. In a way, she respected clowns. And seeing Dr Whiteface, a clown at the top of his profession, the Clown Prince, she really wanted to thank him for his dedication to the tradition despite the universal revulsion against the brotherhood of the red nose. However, she knew this would not be the time.

Dr Whiteface announced. "The Fools' opinion my lord. We are a Guild, complete and entirely to ourselves. We live in near monastic seclusion. Our recruitment is ongoing for those wishing to walk the ascetic path with scarce comforts. We are grim all day, but we, attempt to, make you laugh. Therefore, what happens outside our House of Mirth to those who paths rarely cross our is of little consequence. And before his lordship duly adds, we our very aware that King Verence the Second of Lancre, one of Ankh-Morpork allies is an Alumnus of the College of Clowns, he has chosen to leave the path, we find that rather disgraceful. As such, we in the order of Pune, wish to abstain,"

He sat down. No one clapped. Lord Vetinari bowed his head. "Thank you, Dr Whiteface. Who is next Drumknott?"

"The Gamblers' Guild my lord,"

Scrote Jones played with his dice. "Well you see, were finding it hard to determine the odds, so we're opting out of voting. Abstaining,"

Vimes took a pull of his cigar. "Out of your own odds, who winning?"

"So far, its Roger Helit," and he returned to the crowd.

The Glassblowers' decided to abstain as well.

Lord Vetinari then spoke. "We should have earlier welcome to the City Council the representative to the Clacks Operators' Guild. However, it also appears among many of the malpractices of Reacher Guilt was to force the operators of the Grand Trunk Company, the majority here in Ankh-Morpork, to vote amalgamation with the Company. As such the Managing Director and CEO of the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company must speak in the interest of the operators,"

The woman who stood up impressed Sophie. She pulled off a demure grey dress so brilliantly. Some colours just seem to work on certain people. It looked like grey letting its hair down. Sophie remembered Wilbert exposition about Mr Lipwig, so this woman would be his wife, Adore Belle Dearheart, a name which fitted her like a square peg in a round hole. Dressed in dark, sharp, tight, but still ostensibly modest clothing. With a cigarette holder she made as much smoke as the Castle. She gave an icy stare to rival the Patrician. She held her smoke at shoulder height, with her left elbow cupped in her right hand. She looked as if she held in a womanful amount of angry pressure.

"The last time there was a war like this, the Borogravians tore down the clacks towers. We almost had a war with the dwarfs after the Deep Downer Grags like Ardent made the extremely impressionable dwarfs bring do the clack as well before they moved onto the railway. I've had secret messages from the local companies saying the armies have commandeered their towers, which is worse than tearing them down, there no one can use them, here people who should not have free reign of the clacks do, and no one else. The clacks are supposed to provide a public service. We want the norm restored, by any means, we can rebuild them easily, capturing them is quite hard."

Commander Vimes looked about ready to correct her. But a glance between them stopped him. Instead they shared a brief smoke before she sat down.

Drumknott then called for the next Guild. The Haberdashers. Sophie briefly wondered about asking for membership. But, no, she did not want to return to the hat shop sewing hats.

But what would she do if she managed to break the curse? After everything she did, she imagined Howl would not take kindly to know the girl he saved on May Day tried to infringe on his privacy both by wanted to clean his room and spying on him in the Chalks and messing his hair, even if she did save him for Madame Suliman. By now her actions to obstruct him and her actions to help him must have balanced out. A small thing here or there would probably make or break her situation.

The Haberdashers decided on neutrality.

Conina, the hairdresser from the other day stepped forward. "Now, personally me and Nijel would love a little adventuring, it would be like a second honeymoon. And it didn't bother Mr Fornacite. But, Mr Hugo and some of the other wanted to out vote us. Then I threated them with my scissors and so we all agreed to disagree. So, with no really choice, we got to abstain."

Mr Betteridge of the Guild of Historian voted for action. On the principle you needed someone there to find out what happened. Although he glanced suspiciously at Miss Cripslock and to the nobleman Sophie assuredly guessed to be Miss Cripslock's husband.

Young Sam briefly exited and returned with two other guards who brought Joe "Lifer" Bushyhead of the Lags' Guild into the chamber. The man wore the traditional black and white striped pyjamas and ball and chain.

The Lags' Guild as Wilbert explained looks after the interests of professional prisoners. It maintains a close and mostly amicable relationship with the Thieves' Guild, as it is accepted when a Thief in prison is, by definition, they are no longer active as a Thief and will need to have their interests represented, however temporarily, by a different Guild with the appropriate specialised experience and whose representatives are closer to hand.

Therefore, apprentice Thieves are encouraged to join this Guild, should the worst come to the worst and they end up being persecuted for their beliefs by an oppressive State.

Mr Bushyhead said it is quite traditional for prisoners to be pressganged into military service. And if it meant a reduction in sentence, it would be bonus, it could make an honest man out of someone, and if it didn't, well, who would really miss them? So surprisingly he voted for action.

The Launderers' Guild choose neutrality. No doubt because they did not want to wash the blood stains out the uniforms.

An ancient, and greyish-green man stood up. He carried a large tome. At first Sophie wandered how someone so old could carry it easily, then she realised who did now stand. Mr Slant, the zombie. Now with muscles no longer needing to support life, they could be put entirely into strength. He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed. A moth flew out. "Firstly, I must thank the Patrician for supplying the details from our ambassador in advance, and to Dr Weatherwax and Miss Hatter for their testimonies. It is in my opinion, speaking as a lawyer, no actual crime has been committed," he held up his hand. "And before his Grace Sir Samuel tries to argue there is no law against going to war with another country, and neither is there a law to justify going to war. All you need is a good excuse, however in the Ankh-Morpork I cannot see any reason to act against either nation,"

Lord Vetinari narrowed his eyes. "Ankh-Morpork citizens have be attack,"

"Actually," Mr Slant said bring out a case and taking a document, "the ambassador said people of Ankh-Morpork origins have been caught in the crossfire of attacks against foreigners. This is perfectly understandable, indeed, we did it against citizens and family originating from Klatch in the Almost War,"

Vimes blinked. "You go to kidding, just because it's what people do, have always done, doesn't mean it not bad, or against the law!"

"In war Sir Samuel, the law tends to break down,"

Sophie stood up. "How can you say that!" everyone turned. Sophie continued this felt very much like facing Madame Suliman, she needed to get her thoughts and emotion out, "No legal bases? People are being killed! Homes destroyed, lives ruined. Madame Suliman is using the war as an excuse to disable witches and wizards of her own, and my country!"

Mr Slant looked unmoved. "You yourself said the so-called Witch of the Waste deserved it,"

"I said she deserved to be punished, not reduced to a useless person, in fact the Witch wanted to be helpful in the war effort, what she would have done I don't want to know, but Howl? He came as summoned and gave a reasonable answer and Wilbert speculates she was going to turn him into a monster to control. A human being! That's slavery! Just because there's a war on is no excuse to ignore the worst in humanity."

Sophie took a deep breath and continued, "I don't want to end this war to save my country, or because I want us to win, or to beat Strangia or some other nation, because I hate someone or because I want to blame someone. It's not because it's fun, gods know it's not going to be easy. It's not because I know it's going to work because I don't know if it will! I want to end this war because it's right! Because it's decent, and above all it is kind!"

She looked straight at Mr Slant. "You can speak as a lawyer about whatever arbitrary legal reason you choose to pick out of that common law memory Wilbert tells me you have, to try to justify whatever suits your selfish needs. Speaking as a human, I would rethink your position if I were you,"

Mr Slant's hand went to his neck. He felt the stitching around and trudged at one. He then closed his case. "The Guild of Lawyer will abstain from the matter," he slumped into his chair.

The room remained silent. Then someone raised hand. Drumknott asked, "Yes? Mr Hopkins?"

"The Guild of Clockmakers would formally request we change our decision to action,"

Vetinari smiled. "Well done of you, Mr Hopkins," he gave a minimalist smile, but Sophie could tell for a person like him, a small, and barely noticeable smile means proper amusement. "Does any other Guild wish to change their vote?"

Quickly, the Worm Herders, Postal Workers, Architects, Bakers, Carters and Drovers, Chefs, Confectioners, Conjurers, Embalmers and Allied Traders, Glassblowers and Launderers, changed to action. Sophie couldn't help but cringe at the shifting layers of flab when the President of the Chefs' Guild, a man who very much deserved the name "All" Jolson, raised his arm.

Vetinari continued his smile. "Capital. Shall we move on Drumknott?"

"Yes, my lord," the secretary cleared his throat. "King's Waste Management Limited,"

A man arose. Already so large and imposing Sophie initially thought he stood the entire time. His red and shiny face got completed by his huge cigar. Lord Sir Harry King. He smiled at Sophie. "Great little speech there, miss. Basically, what she said. I ain't daft, I know the way the wind blows, I had years of experience trying to be the furthest down it. But no matter what reason whether it be bad for business or not, at the end of the day this war is just bad full stop. Let's get it over with." He sat down again. Sophie expected a small earthquake or at least a groan from his chair.

The Merchants quickly rode the tails of Sophie's speech and voted for action as well.

Now the ground shook. From the corner of the room shambled a troll. Trolls on the Discworld are made of rock, with silicon brains and diamond teeth. It is because of their silicon brains, which work far better in cold climates, they are often seen as stupid in the warmer cities of the Sto Plains. In hotter climates like the deserts of Klatch during the day, or even in Kingsbury, the brain may overheat and stop working properly to the point a troll might become comatose. This troll possessed a small chin beard made of lichen and a pair of square sunglasses.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Mr Bluestone, or is it Cliff?"

"Cliff is just my stage name sir," gravelled the troll, "Sorry if I cause trouble, only Buddy's still not back from his holiday in his home,"

Sophie suddenly recalled about Miss Susan and Imp y Celyn in Llamedos.

Vetinari steepled his fingers. "So, in absence of their Leader, the Musician's Guild send their top drummer. Very well, I am surprised to see a registered musician awake this early. It was my understanding that no one in your profession ever gets up before four in the afternoon,"

"Long gigs sir, but without Buddy, well, we thought we'd have a break too,"

"Understandable. Does of the Musician's Guild vote for action, neutrality or abstain?"

"We got no excuse," Bluestone said. "Action," and he trudge back into the crowd. Amazingly for someone so big he could disappear into it. Probably because most people do not notice the drummer.

The phrase no excuse became a running theme. The Guild of Plumbers voted for action. But the President, Sir Charles Lavatory did admit he planned to vote against Lord King, until Miss Hatter's speech.

And then Drumknott called for the Guild of Prostitutes. But Wilbert explained, the proper name for the membership would be Seamstress, however the name has already been taking and trademarked by the Seamstresses' Guild who took the euphemism and co-opted it. The Guild Presidents of each are in fact old friends. Mrs Rosemary Palm heads the prostitutes calling themselves Seamstresses, and her old flatmate in Treacle Mine Road, Sandra Battye started the Guild of seamstresses, who by arriving too late found an appropriate name, as it creates a certain pleasing symmetry. They both revel in the entomological misunderstandings, Rosie did it to Sandra during their youth and Sandra is letting what went around to come around again.

Mrs Battye, five feet and two inches of pure bantam defiance clutching a large wickerwork sewing basket, agreed with action.

After her stood Moist von Lipwig. A foot taller than Mrs Battye, brown-blond hair, average and nondescript, he looked very much like someone who could very easily get lost in the crowd, a great advantage in his old career. His golden suit, no costume, drew all the attention, no one really looked at his face. He turned to Lord Vetinari. "Mr Simnel sends his apologise, but he's currently driving the Diameter Express to Genua. So, it falls to me as the Public Relations Officer of the Hygienic Railway to covey the views of the Guild of Railway Servants,"

Harry King smirked with a snort. "Effy was real proud when she came up with that name," Mr Lipwig simply said they would be willing and able to purse action. So, did the Ratcatchers' Guild.

Rosemary Palm stood up next. She looked the kind of successful working woman Fanny wanted to become. She glanced at Sophie and gave her an approving smile and nod, as did Mrs Battye. Sophie wondered if she would be offered membership, hopefully on an honorary position if Mrs Palm made it. "I've spoken with Sergeant Perks of Duchess Alice's Monstrous Regiment, she told me in war a lot of the young recruits were yet to get broken in," she glanced around and some of the blushing faces, including Sophie's and chuckled. "Me and my girls, and indeed Mr Harris and his boys, remember Sergeant Perks showed us even Borogravia can be progressive, are willing to help the troops,"

Lord Vetinari nodded his thanks. A constant rumour abounded about the Mrs Palm undying loyalty to Vetinari.

Tuttle Scrope appeared. Long term President of the Guild of Shoemakers, Cobblers and Leatherworkers and onetime candidate for a replacement Patrician, until the _Times_ reported the conspiracy to disgrace Lord Vetinari, but nevertheless refused to fully expose the details. In a slightly dim manner he approved the action plan.

The Guild of Tailors and Gentlemen's Outfitters, represented by Young Mister Opprobrium of Opprobrium Brothers, a very small man, and seventy leagues away from being young, almost hidden within his suit sat in a wheelchair. As the Tailors also provided the uniforms for the Regiments they would gladly approve of action. And President of the Guild of Textiles and Associated Fabric Manufacturers backup the sentiment.

In between them came a teacher. In a tweed suit and bowtie.

Lord Vetinari smiled. "Ah. Mr McGuffin, I assume Lady Sto Helit is still on her leave of absence,"

"Correct," he paused and coughed, "my lord, Miss Susan send her apology from Llamedos, and asked me as Deputy Head to fill in for her,"

Sophie stopped. Her brain nearly blew. Miss Susan is the Duchess of Sto Helit? She wondered if she should tell Howl, but it may only increase his possible effort to court her.

Mr McGuffin ignoring the daydreaming attendant continued, "The Guild chooses action, as the Guild of Historians will write it down, we teacher will make sure its learnt from,"

"I look forward to it," Lord Vetinari said. "It's never too late for one to learn."

Following the Textile Manufactures, and from the smell of their representative those must include Tanners and Fullers, stood a slightly sallow, seedy man in middle age who affects a brown bowler hat. Sir Josiah Herbert Boggis, Head of the Guild of Thieves, Cutpurses, Housebreakers and Allied Trades.

Nowadays, the modern, properly registered Thieves' Guild makes money mainly by having rich people pay an annual premium and arrange for a convenient date to rob an acceptable amount from these rich clients in their own home. For the poorer, but not penniless, citizens who do not arrange for premiums and appointments, the Thieves quite politely rob them in the streets, in their business premises, or in their homes, not badly injuring them, and always leaving them a receipt which guarantees that these people will not be inconvenienced with another official robbery for the rest of the year. Some of the very modern Thieves stand in front of a prospective client in a dark alley, introduce the Ankh-Morpork guild arrangement, ask for money, and give gifts such as "genuine crystal glasses", or a book of coupons to visitors to the quaint city.

Since the guild also includes the housebreakers, for an annual fee you can become entitled for a brass plaque to put over your door, so you won't be officially burgled.

Thieves' Guild member carries a Guild license on all business occasions to identify himself to the clients and ensure legalized thieving. Someone found to rob or steal without a license can get arrested by the Watch Officers, and this is their best option. The fatal fate for an unlicensed thief will be to meet Thieves' Guild enforcers, who will capture him, kill him, and hang his body somewhere in the city, usually by putting him up on top of the Guild building where buildings usually have weathervanes or hang him from the gallows.

With the Watch becoming more and more efficient and prominent the number of citizens who question the existence of this guild rises, in recent days it is asked quite loudly why people should endure being robbed at all. However, as the guild system has proven to keep crime under control, with the introduction of the guilds crime has surprisingly gone down, it is not expected for the Guild to vanish anytime soon.

Indeed, the Thieves' Guild and the City Watch have an agreement since Sir Josiah is a Special Constable along with his two bodyguards. Vinny "No Ears" Ludd and Harry "Can't remember his own nickname" Jones.

As Lord Vetinari so famously put it. If there is going to be crime, at least let it be organised.

Sir Boggis nodded the gathered. "You might not know this, but a war time city is a thief's paradise. I won't say our methods, but if you need us to cause a little trouble like what my friend Lord Downey suggested, all you got to do is ask. We're up for it,"

Drumknott cleared his throat. "I recommend everyone shield their ears as I called of the representative of the Guild of Town Criers and Railway Station Platform Announcers," at the words Town Criers Sophie put her hands to her ears.

Quickly a man dressed in a mixture of Town Crier robes and a station platform staff uniform stood up and rang his bell. "Hear Ye, Hear Ye! We in the Ancient and Recent Guild of Town Criers and Railway Station Platform Announcers do pledge our allegiance to the course of action against the currently waring nations of Ingary and Strangia!"

After the echoes died away and the last of the shakes to stop the ringing ended, Drumknott cleared his throat. "The, um," he slapped his ear, "The Trespassers' Society,"

Formally the Explorers' Society, until Lord Vetinari pointed out, from the point of view of the native people how already lived in many of the regions "discovered" and "explored" by newcomers from Ankh-Morpork, theses explorers could justifiably be called trespassers.

Burton Chat, the Acting Society President, while the current official president, Abraham Dandy, is currently uncontactable, but a flimsy raft made of balsa wood has been suggested as a part of a plan. Mr Chat turned to Wilbert. "I heard rumours that gremlins have been found around the borderlands of the two opposing nations? Can the University confirm that?"

Wilbert nodded. "Indeed," and proceeded to explain the general details from Mistress Aching and his own notes, then he scratched the back of his ear. "And one almost scared the living day lights out of Sophie and attacked Howl with a spanner," he stood straight again. "But it said something about a quota and a job to do and Sophie mention it talking about building violations and illegal parking,"

Vetinari steepled his fingers. "It sounds to me, as if these, gremlins might be useful as Health and Safety Inspectors and Traffic Wardens," he glanced to the two Watchmen, "Commander, Corporal, would you be willing to combine the Traffic, Airborne and River Patrols, and Railway Police departments into one full Transport Police?"

Sir Samuel considered it. "Makes since, make things a little easier, let me guess, if a couple of gremlins want to join the Watch, you want me to put them in this Transport Police Department?"

"Quite so, Commander," Sir Samuel shrugged. "Can't really see why not, after all these years I'm done arguing with you sir,"

"Capital. Carry on, Mr Chat,"

"Thank you, my lord. We in Society want this war stopped so not the endanger this newly discover species and from the sounds of it, society. Our goal for after is to properly document theses peoples, as well should afford them the pleasantries we should have been given to the goblins before it's too late,"

Vetinari smiled. "I couldn't agree more, Mr Chat, thank you," he turned to the wizards. "Now, Archchancellor. Normally the tradition has been that Unseen University abstains from any vote, as magic should not get involved in politics. However, considering the evidence that Ingary is ignoring this wise advice, I am offering this onetime opportunity to get involved, as this may very well result in a Code Seven-A-Seven-A-Seven-A which is University jurisdiction,"

Ridcully mumbled for a moment. "Excuse me while I discuss it with my chaps,"

"But they are not the entire senior faculty, Archchancellor,"

"Does it matter?" Ridcully blurted. "Henry betrayed us and went to Brazeneck. We're having trouble picking a new Bursar. The Senior Wanger spends all his time eating, more than most wizards, which must be unhygienic somehow. The Chair of Indefinite Study deems anything and everything as not his problem, besides with how slow he's getting recently it could take us all day to get an answer from him. All the Lecturer in Recent Runes does is bicker. And Dr Hicks," he then muttered under his breath "spelt with an X," he then regained his bluster, "I would expect him to vote for the worst option. No, myself, Mr Stibbons, Young Wilbert, the Librarian and Rincewind are more than enough,"

"Rincewind?" the Patrician asked.

"Of course, well-travelled, saved the world a few times and a unique point of view,"

"I wasn't questioning your decision to consult with him, I was questioning the fact he appears not to be with you,"

"Oh," Wilbert replied, "he is here sir. He ducked under the table," and so he looked under. "The Professor is currently curled up directly underneath the axe." The Librarian reach one of his extended arms out and pulled up a man. In his late sixties, but very thin and extremely dishevelled. Dress on old, tatty and faded red robes with a few mystic sigils embroidered in tarnished sequins. One of the most notable things about him, his battered and slightly burnt pointy hat included the word wizard, and spelled with two of the letter z.

Sophie remembered Miss Susan, the Duchess of Sto Helit, mention him as the writer of the poem the Witch of the Waste used to curse Howl. But looking at him now, she found him an enigma. He didn't look quite human, come to think of it neither did Miss Susan or Captain Carrot, they looked slightly beyond human, a little more real within existence.

Rincewind, still held at the collar by the Librarian looked the Wilbert. "Why did you do that? I was happy being out the way. At least I knew that axe wasn't going to attack me! I always end up involved somehow, I know my life! I'm not going into a war!"

Wilbert smiled. "It's all right Professor, since I know Howl, it's more than likely I'll be the one involved,"

Sophie cleared her throat. "Mr Rincewind is somewhat involved in the situation with Howl,"

"Told you," he glanced at her. "And how?" Sophie explained and Rincewind blinked. "Really? Huh, that's not what I expected,"

The Archchancellor cleared his throat. "Anyway gentlemen, and gentle-ape, what's our decision?" The quintet huddled, and a short murmuring rumbled through, and as per tradition in this sort of huddle someone, in this case Rincewind, poked his head up to look somewhere, but nowhere in particular.

Ridcully nodded. "Very well," he turned back to the Patrician. "Unseen University vote for action my lord. As with Lord Downey and Sir Josiah, should the city's force require magical assistant we will give it."

Vetinari nodded. "Thank you, Archchancellor,"

Drumknott checked his list. "The Guild of Victims. Mr Echinoid Blacksly,"

A figure limped up to the table. Echinoid Blacksly the sole member of the Guild of Victims is the go to middle man between the nobility and citizenry and the Thieves' Guild. However, he most certainly draws the line for anyone want his services regarding the Assassins. He croaked his reply. "I'm drawing the line at being asked to take shot intended for soldiers. I know Ankh-Morpork has got to do something, but I don't want to be involved. I'm abstaining, washing my hands of it."

The Patrician nodded. "Very well, Mr Blacksly, you shall be allowed to recover in peace," as Mr Blacksly limped back to a safe corner Drumknott announced, "And finally, our last representative," he sighed. "The Watchmen's Guild," Sophie could tell Drumknott did not approve of the misplaced apostrophe.

A short, monkey-like man sidled up. He removed the short cigarette and stuck it behind his ear. Sophie thought Wilbert simply joked about Nobby Nobbs. "Morning all," he nodded to both Vimes, "Commander, Sam," then to the Patrician. "Your lordship," he put his hands behind his back. "Meself and Fred, uh, Sergeant Colon I mean, we're both experienced soldiers, we know there's time we got to do something, this is one of them times. Let's give them what coming to them," he put his cigarette back to his mouth and sidled back, practically under the crowds.

The Patrician smiled. "And I do believe lord and ladies and gentlemen, is the end of the vote," he said satisfied. "The statistics Drumknott?"

The secretary re-examined his clipboard. "Out of the fifty-six major Guilds, civic institutions and city dignitaries to register for this meeting and subsequent vote. The results as follows. Six have abstained. One votes for neutrality. And forty-nine have voted for action against the nations of Ingary and Strangia,"

"Thank you, Drumknott," he looked at the council. "And thank you all," he then directly addressed the nobles. "My lord and ladies, I say to you, go and assemble your regiments," he turned to Commander Vimes, "However I trust the Watch will be there to see our troops and those of our allies are kept within the law?" Vimes nodded. "Just with the Kneck Wars, I get you sir,"

"Capital," Vetinari said. "Drumknott, have a message conveying the wishes Ankh-Morpork to our associated nations."

"Very good, my lord," Drumknott said writing notes. "To be sent to Lady Margolotta of Bonk, Governess of Überwald," he pronounced Bonk with a ye between the b and the o, "Duke Rodley of Quirm, the Low Queen Blodwen, Mr Shine the Diamond King of Trolls, Queen Keli of Sto Lat, Duchess Alice of Borogravia, Baroness Ella of Genua, the President of Mouldavia and King Verence of Lancre and Baron Roland of the Chalk, for humanitarian aid," he hummed. "Do you think my lord that we should extend our invitation to Pseudopolis and Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia? And perhaps to nations outside the Main Continent?"

"I think we should, if they listen that means we have a larger army to field. If not then they shall continue not being a problem to anyone," he readdressed the assembly. "As for this meeting I called it adjourned. Don't let me detain you,"

The members filled out. Sophie noticed Rincewind and Conina chatting to each other and how Mr Slant appeared the sullenest of them. Commander Vimes walked up to Sophie and gave her a confused smile. "Impressive speech you made, Miss Hatter, I've never seen anyone manage to shame Mr Slant into changing his mind, threatened yeah, that's common, but shaming him. You really must be a witch," he nodded, and he and Young Sam walked out.

Sophie hobbled after Wilbert to the palace exit. However, two elderly women dressed in black, bonnets included, appeared in front of them. Wilbert looked at them with fear and confusion. "Pardon us, Mrs Dotsie and Sadie, I think there's been some mistake, I've never needed the services of the Seamstresses' Guild. And the Watch has a good relationship with the Guild and the Agony Aunts,"

"Oh," Mrs Palm said walking up with Mrs Battye by her side. "It's not you we want to talk to, Mr Weatherwax, Sandra and I wanted to speak with Miss Hatter,"

Sophie blinked. "Me?"

"Yes," Mrs Palm said, "you made quite an impression on everyone, and Mr Weatherwax explained about your curse and your magic. So, we thought,"

"Membership?" Sophie asked. "To which?"

"Either," Mrs Battye said. "Whichever suits you,"

"As to why," Mrs Palm added, "Guilds have the right to offer membership to anyone they wish. And I gave honorary membership of the Seamstresses to both Esmerelda Weatherwax and Gytha Ogg,"

Wilbert blurted out. "I never knew that," his face contorted into horrified confusion. Mrs Palm laughed. "It wasn't for anything specified in our charter. Mrs Ogg got it for her excellent cooking and Mistress Weatherwax for her remedies, for those who suffered, injuries at work, you might say,"

Sophie bit her lip, "I don't know, I feel uncomfortable at the idea, given the names and the occupations. Occupationally as a hatter, used to be a hatter, I'd be better taking Mrs Battye's, but the name,"

Mrs Battye smiled. "It's only called that officially. In informal talk it's the Needlewomen's Guild, and that's what it's called outside Ankh-Morpork," Sophie paused to think. "I can accept joining a guild for needlewomen, but since I'm not working as a hatter now I'd, like to,"

"Pass for the moment?" Mrs Palm guessed. Mrs Battye nodded. "We understand. But the offer's open should you want it." Sophie smiled. "Thank you," the two Guild Presidents and the Agony Aunts left.

* * *

 **Unlike with Chapter 4 I know why this one went on for so long. Originally the vote started at the tell end of Chapter 16 and continued into this chapter. But when in proofreading I decided to explain details of Young Sam I found I could easily end Chapter 16 and have the entire vote in this one.**

 **Now, this voting scene is highly inspired by A.A. Pessimal's story** ** _The Civilian Assistant_** **. But with a couple of characters, details and guilds, changed, switched, added or combined with other. I recommend Mr A.A. as probably the best of Discworld Fanfiction writers.**

 **I decided since Laredo Cronk from** ** _Discworld Noir_** **was sort of a proto-Alice Band I might as well make them mother and daughter. It makes sense.**

 **I'm on the fence between modern art and the classical techniques. And I added reference to Les Jackson from** ** _Jingo_** **, I just thought after what his father put him through he deserves some happiness. I mean Sir Terry showed some hopefulness in the book with the Les and the Klatchian boy searching an understanding of and indeed against the nonsense of their parents.**

 **I decided to cut old Mr Dibbler some slack. He's a salesman not businessman, so I think, if Mr Toplis does exist, he'd be the business savvy one.**

 **Going back to voices for a moment. Joss Ackland did the voices of two religious figures in the 1996 animated series** ** _Testament: The Bible in Animation_** **, he voiced Noah and the Prophet Samuel. So, I also imagine him in also as the voice of Hughnon Ridcully.**

 **Sophie's view of clowns is much the same as mine. I've never had a fear of clowns, mind you I've never head as much exposure to clown in real life. I've only been to one proper circus in my life, and due to the seating, I couldn't see much.**

 **I added onto the speech lifted from** ** _The Civilian Assistant_** **with a paraphrased version of the famous phrase of English clown Joseph Grimaldi.**

 **Sophie's speech to Mr Slant comes from** ** _Dr Who_** **.**

 **The Guild of Railway Servants in my mind is like a trade union. Given the first railway trade union was the Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants.**

 **Duchess Alice of Borogravia. In my head-canon when Prince Heinrich invaded Borogravia the other nations back Borogravia as the Prince broke the truce. In the end the High Command, the de factor rulers decide to establish a new figurehead royal family, Alice "Wazzer" Goom would be the best candidate being the chosen of Duchess. And given the semi-divine nature the Borogravian royal family had, it parallels, in a roundabout way, how Joan of Arc of made a Saint. I also imagine Alice would want to thank her friends and comrades by making them part of her personal guard corps, the Monstrous Regiment, some names stick.**

 **Do you think that's what happened?**

 **Let me know. Bye for now.**


	18. Chapter 18

As Wilbert and Sophie walked away from the Patrician's Palace, Sophie felt a question burn in her mind. She needed to blow off the steam. "Wilbert?"

"Yes Sophie?"

"Why is it women from Ankh-Morpork are so, so, attractive? First Sal, then I meet Conina when she did my hair, and at the City Council meeting just now, Miss Band, Pouter, that Tawneee girl, Miss Cripslock, and Mrs Palm must have a stunner when young,"

"Well, yes." Wilbert sighed and shook his head. "But firstly, on a pedantic note, Sal like myself comes from Sheepridge and Conina is an immigrant herself. She's a daughter of Cohen the Barbarian and one of innumerable concubines, freed slaves or temple women he ravished during his life, although he stayed with that one long enough to teach Conina some tricks of the trade. She's a member of the Thieves' Guild you know,"

"That still doesn't answer how come they get the luck and be beautiful with such amazing figures…" Wilbert stopped. She almost ran into him. He turned around on his heal and looked down at her annoyed.

"Sophie," he said. "You've fallen into the misconception that big breast automatically makes a woman more beautiful. I blame those romantic novels which use the word 'bodice' myself. It's not, it's just a bonus, but one that people now focus on almost entirely. A recent survey of the models Mr Dibbler hires shows the average bra size is, surprisingly, only a B cup. Juliet Stollop is only that, and yet she's considered one of the great beauties of Ankh-Morpork. Another study showed that men don't always prefer larger breasts to smaller breasts if the large breasted women has a high waist-to-hip ratio because it either made her look pregnant or matronly."

"Who did the studies?"

"Admittedly a student wizard, but he was under strict, and I do mean strict, supervision by the Agony Aunts. Based on that, we at Unseen University did an international test, we sent an iconograph of a rather plump model, like one of those numerous women painted in the Royal Art Museum with either an urn or a piece of gauze, to artists from eighteen different countries so they could edit it the national ideals. In Kythia, formerly Samothrip, they altered the model to be skinner, taller and painted her underwear red. To the people of Djelibeybi, they darkened her skin tone and hair, thickened her hair too. Genuan folk preferred her little curvier but generally kept her quite original. In Rimwards Howondaland they barely changed her at all. Agatea, good grief, they redesigned her to be so skinny you'd swear you could see her ribcage. Miss Pouter was right in that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,"

Wilbert sighed. "I don't love Sal because she more than fits the modern Ankh-Morpork ideal of the female figure, that's an extra thing, Sal has the same opinion of my physique. I loved her before she filled out. We were practically born together, we played together, learned together, worked together and we grew together. She has been my partner through everything, even when we were separated when I went to Unseen University I still thought of her. Some people say surely, we're more like brother and sister. I don't think so, I think we're much more, we're like one soul divided between two people, we complete each other, and we complement each other," he looked off distantly and said, "She's beautiful on the inside. Confident in herself."

He sighed again. "She was quite insecure about herself when she started changing. She kept her dual coloured eyes hidden and she wore thick and baggy clothing while working at the University. But I told her, beauty lies in self-confidence and happiness. While some say that beauty leads to self-esteem, I believe that self-esteem leads to beauty. I believe that beauty lies in embracing those little imperfections that make us who we are, a scar above a left eye, a chipped tooth, a crooked finger. Beauty lies in smiling about our flaws, standing straight regardless of how tall or short we are. Being proud, not hiding from our looming insecurities."

As he walked off Sophie remained very quiet as she thought about things.

When the two returned to the Castle they found Sal grumbling as she helped feed the Witch of the Waste breakfast. She glanced at them. "Your back good. Sophie, Howl's come down with a cold. Markl's get fed up of having to rush up and down the stairs, and his breakfast is getting cold,"

"I haven't had any breakfast either," Sophie snapped. "Howl can wait. How did he get a cold anyway? Me and the Witch flew through a rain-cloud last night and we're okay,"

Wilbert sat down and shook his head. "He always gets them whenever he goes to Llamedos,"

Sophie sat down and added, "Speaking of Llamedos, did you know we met the Duchess of Sto Helit there?

Wilbert and Sal glanced at each other and then asked together, "Susan Sto Helit?"

"Miss Susan," Sophie said. "Yes," and explained what happened when they met her in Cwtch. Wilbert went into a deep thought, but automatically ate his breakfast.

By now the Witch fell asleep, Markl came back down to finish his breakfast and Sal and Sophie took the time to converse. Sophie felt unsympathetic towards Howl. "I think that people who run away from everything deserve every cold they get," she said. "I get he wants to be free, but he has some reasonability in his life,"

Sal nodded. "Miss Dearheart told me something Lord Vetinari told Mr Lipwig when he offered him the job of Postmaster General. No practical definition of freedom would be complete without the freedom to take the consequences,"

"Having just met him I can believe that," Sophie sighed. "Ankh-Morpork thinks the Ingary military are all violent, uncaring idiots, and seeing the King for myself it's not hard to see why," Sal nodded again. "Knowing Mister Vimes, he probably thinks King Rolland is Lord Rust version two,"

"Lord Rust? I thought it was Lady Rust,"

"Oh no," Sal corrected. "The Late Lord Ronald Rust was Lady Regina Rust's father, he and Mister Vimes often butted heads, most famously during the Almost War with Klatch and the Kneck Wars,"

The Rust family are one of the older noble families in the Sto Plains. Starting out as Barons when a King of Ankh-Morpork awarded it to Brian Rust for supposedly killing thirty-seven soldiers of Klatch single-handedly with nothing but a pin. They adjusted to the fall of the monarchy and the rise of merchants and guilds and now makes money by renting out slum property. Lord Ronald Rust lived the life typical for a son of privilege. A baying, drawling, affected dandy not over-burdened with brains. Arrogant, ignorant and a very dangerous military commander; he expected huge casualties, often on his own side. He has been described as operating on the principal of any battle where you can deduct your causalities from the casualties suffered by the enemy and result in a positive number is a glorious victory.

His most infamous exploits included allowing his son Gravid to force the goblins living on the Vimes country estate into slavery on a Howondaland tobacco plantation and shipping troll narcotics along with the tobacco. Gravid got exiled to Fourecks. Lord Ronald Rust also infamously forced Lord Vetinari out of office in the days preceding to the Almost War with Klatch by bringing his Regiment to the front of the Patrician's Palace, and recommending Lord Vetinari stand down for the duration, the famous Bigger Army Diplomacy.

Sophie frowned and nodded. "Our King does sound a lot like him," internally she thought, Nobility are such hypocrites. They didn't want Commander Vimes in charge of the Palace Guard, but Lord Rust did what the other nobles feared, and he gets a free pass?

"Well," Sal said. "Rolland's not my king. Wilbert and I were kids in Sheepridge, we grew up to adulthood in Ankh-Morpork, neither have a king. The people in the widdershins areas of Octarine Grass Country are so focused on getting the harvest right we don't have the time to think about politics, and Ankh-Morpork hasn't had a king since "Old Stoneface" Vimes executed Lorenzo. Only now do I have a King in Verence,"

Sophie sighed. "This war could have gone a lot easier if Prince Justin hadn't left. Howl was even asked to find him,"

"Actually," Sal said rubbing the back of her head. "He did look for Prince Justin. Courting isn't the only thing he does when he goes out, just the most common."

"When did he look?"

"He looked when he first disappeared. He was curious to know what Prince Justin was doing in the Folding Valley, when everyone knew Sir Benjamin Suliman had gone to the Waste. I think someone must have sold him a dud finding spell, because according to Howl, he went all the way to the Chalk, went to Tiffany, bought another from her, followed it back to valley, came here to Castle and Markl sold him another finding spell and a disguise spell…"

Markl's hand went over his mouth. "Was that man in the green uniform Prince Justin?"

"Yes, but Howl didn't want us to mention the matter," she rolled her eye. "Because King Rolland might have though you should have had the sense to sell him another dud. Howl had a conscience about it," she looked at Sophie. "He does have a conscience, it's just he tends to ignore it."

Sophie thought about things for a moment. So, Howl must have been looking for Prince Justin when he met Lettie.

Howl's voice shouted weakly, "Help me, someone! I'm dying from neglect up here!"

Sophie snorted. Markl left off working on his new spell and ran up and downstairs. Things became very restless. In the time it took Sophie to sew some ten small rags into a new duster, Markl ran upstairs with lemon and honey, with a book, with cough mixture, with a spoon to take the cough mixture with, and then with nose drops, throat pastilles, gargle, pen, paper, three more books, and an infusion of willow bark.

People kept knocking at the door too. Making Sophie jump and Calcifer flicker uneasily. Wilbert reassured them nothing wrong would happen and explained about the now uselessness of both the Kingsbury and Porthaven doors. Indeed, most of those knocking came from Mad Stoat. Wilbert did get a couple of visitors from Ankh-Morpork. And as usual, Mr Soak. Although for some reason he did not acknowledge the Witch now in residence. Sophie needed to tell him of the new resident. Mr Soak's smile did not reassure her.

Markl trudged down for another time. "He wants six slices of bacon in the sandwich. Could you ask Calcifer?"

Sophie and Calcifer exchanged speaking looks. "I don't think he's dying," Calcifer said.

"I'll give you the rinds to eat if you bend your head down," Sophie said, laying down her sewing. She found it easier to bribe Calcifer than bully him.

Sal insisted to add generous portions of lettuce and tomato to the sandwiches. Something Lady Sybil insisted on Mister Vimes and she passed onto both Sal and Angua. They ate bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for lunch, but Markl needed to rush upstairs in the middle of eating his. He came down with news Howl wanted him to go into Market Chipping now, to get some things for a special spell.

"But the army," Sophie asked, "is it safe?"

Markl licked bacon grease off his fingers and dived to for his cloak. Wilbert gave him a new pair of shoes. "While you were in Llamedos I made these. Your own pair of seven-league boots." Markl quickly out his cloak on and continued licking his fingers through the beard. "Howl thinks I'll be safe enough like this. It's misdirection as well as disguise. I wonder if Martha will know it's me?" he opened the door on the green setting and with a Zip! Markl vanished out onto the rolling hills.

Peace descended. Wilbert went out into Ankh-Morpork again and Sal decided to go and tend her witch's cottage. But the three of them decided to move the Witch of the Waste to a spare bedroom so Howl, if he did come down, would not find her in his Castle, not before they explained first. Calcifer settled and chinked. Howl evidently realised Sophie would not run about after him. Silence emanated from upstairs. Sophie got up and cautiously hobbled to Wilbert and Sal's room. Now with a chance to go and see Lettie. She wondered how she felt. Howl, while annoying in this pestering must have been the only person, aside from Mistress Aching, Lettie could identify with as a magic user, how would losing a possible friend affect her? Sophie felt sure Howl did not go away near her since the day in by the shepherd's hut. Anyway, she really wanted to talk with Lettie, and hopefully Mistress Aching managed to explain things to her.

Sophie could not find Wilbert's seven-league boots. Not in his bedroom, wardrobe or workshop. She sighed. She should have expected this what with the near abuse she and Markl subjected them to.

As she hobbled down the stairs someone knocked at the door. Sophie, as usual, jumped and hoped they would go away. It couldn't be someone from Mad Stoat since Sal would be in her cottage. So, either someone wanted Wilbert or someone or something, in the Waste. This person seemed more determined than most. Whoever it turned out to be went on knocking, or perhaps hurling him or herself at the door, for the sound resembled a steady whump, whump, whump then proper knocking. After five minutes they still went on doing it.

Sophie looked at the uneasy flickers of the hiding Calcifer. "Is it a witch or wizard?"

"No," said Calcifer, muffled among his logs. "It's the Castle door. Someone must be running up and jump at it. Howl wants us to move at least once a day. We're going quite fast."

"Is it a gremlin?" Sophie asked, and her chest gave a tremor at the mere idea.

"Don't need to worry about them anymore Sophie, while you were attending that meeting, some big shot gremlin named Thermidor explained to Sal they'd leave us alone unless the Castle collapses or something like that," his face climbed up into the chimney, looking puzzled. "I'm not sure what it is, expect that it wants to come in badly. I don't think it means any harm."

Since the whump, whump just kept on, giving Sophie and irritable feeling of urgency, she decided to open the door and put a stop to it. Besides, she felt curious about what it could be. Sophie opened the door.

A huge, spindly greyhound leaped off the hillside. Sophie backed away hurriedly. She always felt nervous of dogs, and greyhounds are not reassuring to look at. This one put itself between her and the door and stared at her. Sophie looked longingly at the wheeling rocks and heather outside and wondered whether it would do any good to yell for Howl.

The dog bent its already bent back and somehow hoisted itself onto its lean hind legs. Making it almost as tall as Sophie. It held its front legs stiffly out and heaved upwards again. Then, as Sophie opened her mouth to yell for Howl, the creature put out an obviously enormous effort and surged upwards into the shape of a pale, unhappy face. "Came from Chalk!" panted this dog-man. "You cat sent me. Lettie unhappy… sent me to you… told me to stay…" He began to double up and shrink before he finished speaking. He gave a dog howl of despair and annoyance. "Don't tell Wizard!" he whined and dwindled away inside unkempt hair into a dog again. A different dog. A familiar dog. It coughed and waved it fringed tail and stared earnestly at Sophie from melting, miserable eyes.

"Oh, dear," said Sophie as she shut the door. "You do have troubles, my friend. You're Heen, Madame Suliman's errand dog. But I can tell your much more, and I guess Suliman was not being entirely true in her statement. But, why did Mistress Aching's cat send you here? What were you doing in the Chalk? How could you get from Kingsbury to the Chalk and back here in only twenty-four hours? Why you don't want me to tell Wizard Howl…"

Heen growled faintly at the name. But he also wagged it tail and stared appealingly.

"All right. I won't tell him," Sophie promised. Heen seemed reassured. He trotted to the hearth, where he gave Calcifer a somewhat wary look and lay down beside the heated stone base.

"But," Sophie added. Catching the dog's attention. "Howl might recognise you from yesterday. Maybe you should appear as something else, something perhaps bit friendlier," Sophie mumbled and added, "I'm a little nervous around dogs,"

Heen shut his eyes to concentrate. Slowly, and thankfully, in a gentle way he transformed. Less morph and more extended and shrank and grew in areas. His fur faded into chocolate colour the coat shortened too. He did not become much bigger, only about fifteen inches in size. Instead of low and long, Heen looked broad and square in proportion. Large head, wide padded muzzle, highly set ears, think curled tail, with wrinkled head, neck and shoulders. He looked like a miniature Agatean Lucky Dog.

"Calcifer," Sophie asked, "What do you think?"

"This dog is a be-spelled human," Calcifer said unnecessarily.

"I know, but can you take the spell of him?" Sophie asked. She supposed Lettie must have heard like so many people, of Howl employment of a witch. And it seemed rather important to turn the dog into a man again and send him back to Upper Folding, or to Madame Suliman, before Howl got out of bed and found him there.

"No." Calcifer stated. "I'd need to be linked with Howl for that."

"Then I'll try it myself," Sophie said. Poor Lettie! Breaking her heart for Howl, and her only other, equal status, friend, is a dog most of the time! Sophie laid hand on the dog's soft square head and felt his velvety coat. "Turn back into the man you should be," she said. She said it quite often, but its only effect seemed to be to send the dog deeply to sleep. Heen snored and twitched against Sophie's legs.

Meanwhile a certain amount of moaning and groaning came from upstairs. Sophie kept muttering to the dog and ignored it. A loud, hollow coughing followed, dying away into more moaning. Sophie ignored that too. Crashing sneezes followed the coughing, each one rattling the window and all the doors. Sophie found those harder to ignore, but she managed. A nose blew like a bassoon in a tunnel. The coughing started again, mingled with moans. Sneezes mixed with the moans and the coughs, and the sounds rose to a crescendo in which Howl seemed to be managing to cough, groan, blow his nose, sneeze and wail gently all, at the same time. The doors rattled the beams in the ceiling shook, and one of Calcifer's logs rolled off on to the hearth.

"All right, all right, I get the message!" Sophie said, dumping the log back into the grate. "It'll be green slime next. Calcifer, make sure that dog stays where it is." And she climbed the stairs, muttering loudly, "Really, these wizards! You'd think no one had ever had a cold before! Well, what is it?" she asked, hobbling through the bedroom door on to the filthy carpet.

"I'm dying of boredom," Howl said pathetically. "Or maybe just dying."

He laid propped on dirty grey pillows, looking quite poorly, with what might have been a patchwork coverlet over him, except that it was all one colour with dust. The spiders he seemed to like so much were spinning busily in the canopy above him.

Sophie felt his forehead. "You do have a bit of a fever," she admitted.

"I'm delirious," said Howl. "Spots are crawling before my eyes."

"Those are spiders," said Sophie. "Why can't you cure yourself with spell?"

"Because there is no cure for a cold," Howl said dolefully. "Things are going around and around in my head, or maybe my head is going around and around in things. I keep thinking of the terms of the Witch's curse. I hadn't realised she could lay me bare like that. It's a bad thing to be laid bare, even though the things that are all my own doing. I keep waiting for the rest to happen."

Sophie thought back to the puzzling verse. "What things? Tell me where all the past years are?"

"Oh, I know that," said Howl. "My own, or anyone else's. They're all there, just where they always were. I could go and play bad fairy at my own Naming Rite if I wanted. Maybe I did and that's my trouble. No, there are only three things I'm waiting for, the sea nymphs, the mandrake root, and the wind to advance an honest mind. And whether I get white hairs, I suppose, only I'm not going to take the spell off to see. There's only about a month left for them to come true in, and the Witch gets me as soon as they do. But the Rugby Club Reunion is on the Eve of Small Gods, so I shall get to that at least. The rest had all happened long ago."

"You mean the falling star and never being able to find a woman true and fair?" said Sophie. "I'm not surprised, the way you go on. Both Mrs Earwig and Madame Suliman told me you were going to the bad. They were right, weren't they?"

"I must go to the funeral if it kills me," Howl mumbled, either delirious from the fever or finding something to deflect Sophie's question with, or both.

"What funeral?" Sophie asked.

The door swung opened and Wilbert stepped in and stared at Sophie amazed. "Your words to Mr Slant had a bigger effect on this than we thought," he held a clack flimsy. "This got sent from the Guild of Lawyer's building across all channels. Mr Slant has resigned," he sighed. "And since Mr Slant apparently only kept on living as he wished to pursue the financial disbursements involved in conducting his own defence at the trial that apparently lead to his execution by beheading, well, now that he has given up being a lawyer."

Sophie heart jumped. But her second thoughts butted in. Surely you can't be accused of aiding in his suicide, he's a zombie, he was already dead.

Wilbert sighed. "I know what you're think Sophie. I'm afraid you can be charged. Reg Shoe with Mr Slant in tow petitioned Lord Vetinari for the Citizens for Undead Rights and Equality, mainly Reg himself. Laws were enacted acknowledging anyone with active brain function is regarded as a person. So, as it pains me to say this Sophie, as a formality, until further notice, you are under house arrest under the suspicion of harassment which resulted in suicide," he sighed again. "If you excuse me, I need to go and speak with the Commander, file my report and wait for the verdict by the Guild of Lawyers."

The mode dropped a bit as Wilbert left. The door shut, and silence filled the room. Finally, Sophie turned to Howl. Unsure how to feel about what just happened, she decided to ignore it. "When I asked about whether you were going to the bad Howl, I was talking about the way you keep dropping ladies as soon as you've made them love you," she said. "Why do you do it?"

Howl pointed a shaky hand up towards the canopy of his bed. "That's why I love spiders. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. I keep trying. I'm looking for one girl specifically," he said with great sadness. "But I brought it on myself for making a bargain some years ago, and I know I shall never be able to love anyone properly now."

The water running out of Howl's eyes looked like tears now. Sophie became concerned. "Now, you mustn't cry…"

A pattering came from outside. Sophie looked around to see Heen the dog-man oozing himself past the door in a neat half-circle. She reached out and caught a handful of his brown coat, thinking he came to bite Howl, much like You tried when she and Markl met Mistress Aching. But the dog simply leaned against her legs, so she staggered back to the peeling wall.

"What's this?" said Howl.

"My new dog," Sophie said, hanging onto its velvet hair. Now she stood against the wall, she could see out the bedroom window. It should have looked out of the Castle and out to the Waste. But instead, it showed a view of a neat, square garden with a child's metal swing in the middle. The setting sun fired raindrops hanging on the swing to blue and red. As Sophie stood and stared, Howl's niece, Mari came running across the wet grass. Howl's sister, Megan, followed Mari. She evidently shouted to Mari not to sit on the wet swing, but no sound seemed to come through. "Is that Cwtch?" Sophie asked.

Howl laughed and pounded on the coverlet. Dust climbed like smoke.

"Bother that dog!" he croaked. "I had a bet on with myself that I could keep you from snooping out of window all the time you were in here!"

"Did you now?" said Sophie, and she let go of the dog, hoping he would bite Howl hard. But the dog only went on leaning on her, shoving her towards the door now. "So, all that song and dance was just a game, was it?" she said. "I might have known!"

Howl lay back on his grey pillows, looking wronged and injured. "Sometimes," he said reproachfully, "you sound just Megan."

"Sometimes," Sophie answered, shooing the dog out of the room in front of her, "I understand how Megan got the way she is." And she shut the door on the spiders, the dust and the garden, with a loud bang.

* * *

 **So, the artists impression survey was based on a real one by Superdrug.** **http** **:** **/** **/** **uk** **.** **businessinsider** **.** **com** **/** **perceptions-of-beauty-around-the-world-couples-2016-2/**

 **I'm using the couple's additions for equality sake.**

 **Wilbert speech about why he loves Sal is to deconstruct, exaggerate and reconstruct the Childhood Friend Romance Trope.**

 **Bigger Army Diplomacy, thank you CGP Grey. As we've seen in the books, the nobility of Ankh-Morpork like to be unfair to Commander Vimes, primarily because he was a commoner who struck it lucky, has the blood of a regicide committer in his veins, and most of all, would be far more capable of running Ankh-Morpork than any of the nobles, even though he would never want to run Ankh-Morpork.**

 **The name of the head gremlin. In the original Disney story, the leader of the gremlins in named Gus, no doubt short from Augustus or similar. Thermidor was the most famous of the renamed months during the Reign of Terror in the French Revolution.**

 **So Heen's now in the castle of things are a bit different with him.**

 **Yes, I decided to, well not kill off, but have Mr Slant pass on. I never really liked the character, I think he more than overstayed his welcome. You may all start hating me now.**

 **Until next time.**


	19. Chapter 19

Heen curled up heavily on Sophie's toes when she went back to her sewing. Perhaps he hoped she would manage to lift the spell if he stayed close to her.

A cloaked dwarf burst into the room carrying a box of things and shed his velvet cloak to become Markl still carrying the box. Heen rose up and wagged his tail. He let Markl pat him and rub his ears as Sophie partly explained about him.

"I hope he stays," Markl said. "I've always wanted a dog."

Howl heard Markl's voice. He arrived downstairs wrapped in the brown patchwork cover off his bed. Sophie stopped sewing and took a careful grip of the dog. But the dog seemed courteous to Howl too. He did not object when Howl fetched a hand out of the coverlet and patted him.

"Well?" Howl croaked, dispersing clouds of dust as he conjured up some tissues.

"I got everything," said Markl. The started discussing things in private. Sophie decided to stay out of the wizard talk. Instead, the main thing on her mind centred on the puzzling behaviour of the dog. Despite Sophie telling him many times she could not take the spell off him, he did not seem to want to leave. He did not want to bite Howl. He let Markl take him for a run on the marshes during the night and the following morning. His aim seemed to be to become part of the household.

"Though if I were you, I'd be in the Chalk making sure to catch Lettie on the rebound," Sophie told him.

Howl went in and out of bed all the next day. When he remained in bed, Markl needed to tear up and down the stairs. When he managed to be out of bed, he discussed things with Wilbert, the Vice-Chancellor measured the inside of the Castle with him and Markl and fixed metal brackets to every single corner.

In between, Howl kept appearing, robed in his quilt and clouds of dust, to ask questions and make announcements, mostly for Sophie's benefit.

"Sophie, since you whitewashed over all the marks, perhaps you can tell me where the marks in Markl's room were?"

"No," said Sophie, sewing one of Howl's other suits, she noted ever since she repaired the grey one he did not wear is others much. "I can't."

Howl sneezed. "Ally your fiendish mind to the matter," he said. "Or even think, if you know how." And he marched away upstairs again.

Next time he appeared he did it dressed. The third time in the day, and Sophie thought nothing of it until Howl put on the velvet cloak Markl used and became a long-bearded man with a large handkerchief held to his nose. She realised Howl would be going out them. "You'll make your cold worse," she said.

"I shall die and then you'll all be sorry," the beard said and went out through the door with the green setting.

For an hour after, Markl worked on his spell. Sal went into Mad Stoat and Wilbert came back for Pseudopolis Yards and smiled at Sophie. "It's all right, the Guild of Lawyers have dismissed the charges. Mr Slant prior to his resignation conferred with Lord Vetinari and his business partner, the vampires Morecombe and Honeyplace. He apparently said you were not a harasser and more an enlightener. All he asked was his disbursement be payed, with the compound interest and inflation naturally added and payed to his partners. Lord Vetinari agreed as payment for his dedicated service towards the city. The Guild of Lawyer are now currently electing a new President and sorting out who would best suit Mr Slant's outstanding contracts and commitments, like for example he solicited the _Times_ for free. The Watch is sure Lord William de Worde threaten him,"

"William de Worde?" Sophie asked. "Is that the nobleman in the breeches Miss Cripslock glanced at during the meeting, who I can only assume is her husband?" Wilbert nodded. "For professional reasons she prefers to be referred by her maiden name. That and she's a girl from Small Gods, a neighbourhood of Morpork. The de Worde family have a townhouse in Nonesuch Street in Ankh, some people would object, especially since William has inherited the title and lands from his father years ago,"

Sophie finished with a triangle on the suit. Then the bearded man came back again. He shed the cloak and became Howl, coughing harder than before and, if possible, sorrier for himself than ever. He went over to Markl and Wilbert and in a loud hush told them something. Sophie suspected he wanted her to be curious.

"What about the money you get if you find Prince Justin?" Markl asked. Howl croaked something, but Sophie felt she understand, whatever Howl wanted to do, he did not want to look for Prince Justin. And he went coughing upstairs to bed, where he shortly began shaking the beams sneezing for attention again.

Markl left the spell and rushed upstairs. Sophie might have gone, except Heen got in the way when she tried. Another part of his odd behaviour. He did not like Sophie to do anything for Howl. Sophie viewed this as reasonable. She began of her eighty-fifth triangle. Some reason, possibly the magic spells Howl subjected the garment to either by performing magic or prettying himself up while wearing it, with every triangle she sewed on, the smaller the jacket got.

Markl came cheerfully down and worked on his spell again.

A little later, Howl came trailing downstairs in his quilt again. "This is positively my last appearance," Howl croaked. "I forgot to say Wilbert gave me word Mr Slant is being buried tomorrow in the Moon Pond Cemetery in Ankh, and I shall need this suit cleaned." He brought the grey and scarlet suit out from inside his coverlet and dropped it on Sophie's lap. "You're attending to the wrong suit," he told Sophie. "This is the one I like, but I haven't the energy to clean it myself."

"You don't need to go to the funeral, do you?" Markl said anxiously.

"I wouldn't dream of staying away," said Howl. "Mr Slant was one of the greatest figures in history, and in modern times, what an attorney is lost in him. I have to pay my respects."

"But your cold's worse," said Markl.

"He's made it worse," said Sophie, "by getting up and chasing around."

Howl at once put on his noblest expression. "I'll be all right," he croaked, "as long as I keep out of the Ankh wind. It's a bitter place, the Moon Pond. The trees are all bent sideways, but there is shelter around it.

Sophie knew he just played for sympathy. She snorted.

"And what about Madame Suliman?" Markl asked.

Howl coughed piteously. "Even if she does come, which I doubt, I shall go in disguise, probably as another corpse," he said, trailing back towards the stairs.

"Then you need a winding sheet and not this suit," Sophie called after him. Howl trailed away upstairs without answering and Sophie did not protest. She now held the charmed suit in her hands, a chance too good to miss. She took up her scissors and hacked the grey and scarlet suit into seven jagged pieces. This ought to discourage Howl from wearing it. Then she got to work on the last triangles of the suit, mostly little fragments from around the neck. Now very small indeed. It looked as if it might be a size to small even for Madame Suliman's servant boys.

"Markl," she said. "Hurry up with that spell. It's urgent."

"I won't be long now," Markl said.

Half an hour later he checked things off on his list and said he thought himself ready. He came over to Sophie carrying a tiny bowl with a very small amount of green in the bottom. "Where do you want it?"

"Here," said Sophie, snipping off the last threads. She pushed the sleeping dog-man aside and laid the child-sized suit carefully on the floor. Markl, quite as carefully, tipped the bowl and sprinkled powder on every inch of it.

Then they both waited, rather anxiously.

A moment passed. Markl sighed with relief. The suit gently spread out larger. They watched it spread and spread, until one side of it piled up against the dog-man and Sophie pulled it further away to give it room.

After about five minutes they both agreed the suit looked Howl's size again. Markl gathered it up and carefully shook the excess powder off into the grate. Calcifer flared and snarled. The dog-man jumped in his sleep.

"Watch it!" said Calcifer. "That was strong."

Sophie took the suit and hobbled upstairs on tiptoe with it. Howl slept on his grey pillows, with his spiders busily making new webs around him. He looked noble and sad in his sleep. Sophie hobbled to put the suit on the old chest by the window, trying to tell herself the suit did not get any larger since she picked it up. "Still, if it stops you going to funeral, that's no loss," she murmured as she looked out of the window.

The sun fell low across the neat garden. A large, dark man stood out there, enthusiastically throwing a red ball towards Howl's nephew, Neil, who stood with a look of patient suffering, holding a bat. Sophie guessed the man to be Neil's father, Megan's husband, and Howl's brother-in-law.

"Snooping again," Howl said suddenly behind her. Sophie swung around guiltily, to find Howl only half awake really. He may even have thought it the day before because he said, "'Teach me to keep off envy's stinging' that's all part of past years now. I love Llamedos, but it doesn't love me. Megan's full of envy because she's respectable and I'm not." Then he woke up a little more and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Just putting out your suit for you," Sophie said, and hobbled hastily away.

Howl must have gone back to sleep. He did not emerge again at all during the night. There came no sign of him stirring when Sophie and Markl got up next morning. They carefully did not disturb him. Neither of them felt going to Mr Slant's funeral seemed a good idea. Markl crept out on the hills to take Heen for a run. Sophie, Sal and Wilbert, whenever the couple were inside the Castle, tiptoed about, getting breakfast taking it to the Witch, who remained rather sedate and unquestioning about her situation. While doing all of this, Sophie hopped Howl would oversleep.

She found no sigh of Howl when Markl came back. The dog-man looked starving hungry. Sophie and Markl hunted in the closet for things a dog could eat while Sal comforted and petted him enthusiastically. Then Howl came slowly downstairs.

"Sophie," Howl's voice said accusingly.

He stood with an arm entirely hidden inside an immense sleeve. His feet, on the bottom stair, stood inside the top half of a gigantic jacket. Howl's other arm did not come anywhere near the other huge sleeve. Sophie could see the arm in the outline, making bulging gestures under a vast frill of collar. Behind Howl, material carpeted the stairs, like the house in Llamedos, trailing presumably back all the way to his bedroom.

"Oh, dear!" said Markl. "Howl, it was my fault I…"

"Your fault? Rubbish!" said Howl. "I can detect Sophie's hand a mile off. And there are several miles of this suit…"

Sal burst out laughing. Wilbert peered down through the gap between the stairway and the living room ceiling. He descended the steps. Or tried to. His foot slipped and folding and sliding piece of material. He tumbled down. His size and structure meant he overpowered Howl. Both collapsed onto the floor. This only caused Sal to laugh more, and Calcifer joined in. Howl got up, and brushed himself off, while he glared at her, if looks could be transformed into weapons, Lord Downey would give an arm and a leg for the one made of Howl's expression.

"Sophie dear," he said calmly. But no one else felt calm, even Sal and Calcifer stopped laugh. Howl they felt, went right through anger and out the other end. Students at the Assassin's Guild School would spend years trying to achieve this kind of deadly calm. The type of calm which ended Homicidal Lord Winder, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork almost exactly fifty-years ago. He finished with, "where is my other suit?"

Sophie hurriedly fetched the pieces of the grey and scarlet suit out of the broom cupboard, where she hid them. Howl surveyed them. "Well, that's something," he said. "I'd been expecting it to be too small to see. Give it here, all seven of it." Sophie held the bundle of grey and scarlet cloth out towards him. Howl, with a bit of searching, succeeded in finding his hand inside the multiple folds of the overgrowing sleeve and worked it through a gap between two tremendous stiches. He grabbed the bundle of her. "I am now," he said, still in the deadly calm tone, "going to get ready for the funeral. Please, all of you refrain from doing anything whatsoever while I do. I can tell Sophie is in top form now, and I want this room the usual size when I come back into it."

He set off with dignity to the bathroom, wading in his suit. The rest followed him back up, fragging step by step down the stairs. By the time Howl entered the bathroom most of the jacket sat on the first floor. Howl half shut the bathroom door and seemed to go on hauling the suit in hand over hand.

Sophie, Sal, Markl, Wilbert and the dog-man stood staring at the visible floor in the ceiling gap and watch yard after yard of fabric proceed across the floor, decorated with an occasional silver button the size of millstones and enormous, regular, rope like stitches. There may have been nearly a third of mile of it.

"I don't think I got that spell quite right," Markl said when the last huge scalloped edge disappeared and the they heard the bathroom door shut.

"And didn't he let you know it!" said Calcifer. "Another log, please."

Markl gave Calcifer a log. Sophie fed Heen. Sal help tend to a bruise on Wilbert's knee. The Vice-Chancellor stared off slightly and wondered out loud, "If we let a suit expand to be so big to clothe one of the World Elephants, what material would it have to be?"

Markl turned from the hearth and titled his head. "What do you mean Wilbert? That looked like cloth to me,"

Wilbert blinked and turned to Markl. "Ah, yes," he cleared his throat. "But that still on the realms of what is possible with cloth. According to dwarf mythology…"

Sophie glanced at him. "I thought dwarfs didn't have religions?"

Wilbert shook his head. "Dwarfs are not a religious people, no, but, they are a superstitious one. Anyway, according to them, the World Elephants being such huge beast have bones of rock and iron, and nerves of gold for better conductivity over long distances,"

After this the group dared not to do anything much else except stand around eating bread and honey for breakfast until Howl came out of the bathroom.

He came forth two hours later, out of a steam of verbena-scented spells. All in black. His suit, boots, and he kept his hair black too. His eating a long jet pendant. Sophie wondered which suit Howl turned black.

Howl conjured himself a black tissue and blew his nose on it. The window rattled. He picked up one of the slices of bread and honey from the bench and beckoned the dog-man. Heen looked dubious. "I only want you where I can look at you," Howl croaked. His cold remained bad. "Come here, pooch." As the dog crawled reluctantly into the middle of the room, Howl added, "You won't find my other suit in the bathroom, Mrs Snoop. You're not getting your hands on any of my clothes again."

Sophie stopped tiptoeing towards the stairs and watched Howl walk around the dog-man, eating bread and honey and blowing his nose by turns.

"What do you think of this as a disguise?" he asked. He flicked the black tissue at Calcifer and started to fall forwards onto hands and knees. Almost as he started to move, he vanished. By the time he touched the floor, he became a black coated dog. Not exactly like Heen as the Agatean Lucky Dog, but more like a large sheepdog from the Counterweight Continent, or one of the Ramtop mountain breeds you would find going into Enlightenment Country.

This took Heen completely by surprise and his instincts go the better of him. His hackles came up, his ears lowered, and he growled. Howl played up, or else he felt the same. The two dogs walked around one another, glaring, growling, bristling and getting ready to fight, Heen seemingly forgot about the size difference between him and Howl.

Sophie caught the tail of one. Markl grabbed for the tail of the other. Howl hastily turned back into himself. Sophie fell to the tall black person standing up in front of her and let go of the back of Howl's jacket. She could not help but notice the texture felt of feathers. The dog-man sat down on Markl's feet, staring tragically.

"Good," said Howl. "If I can deceive another dog, I can fool everyone else. No one at the funeral is going to notice a stray dog lifting its leg against the gravestone." He went to the knob and turned it to the grey setting and walked out into Elm Street.

Several hours passed. The dog-man became hungry again. Markl and Sophie decided to have lunch too. Sophie approached Calcifer with the frying pan.

"Why can't you have bread and cheese for once?" Calcifer grumbled.

All the same, he bent his head. Sophie just put the pan on top of the curly orange flames when Howl's voice rang out hoarsely from nowhere.

"Brace yourself, Calcifer! I've been found!"

Calcifer sprang upright. The frying pan fell across Sophie's knees. "You'll have to wait!" Calcifer roared, flaming blindingly up the chimney. Almost at once he blurred into a dozen or so burning orange face, as if someone shook him violently about, and burned with a loud throaty whirring.

"That must mean there's fighting," Markl whispered.

Wilbert passed with his broomstick and flew out the door.

Sophie sucked a slightly burned finger and picked slices of bacon with the other hand, staring at Calcifer. He whipped from side to side of the fireplace. His blurred faces pulsed from literally burnt orange to peach and then almost to white. One moment possessed multiple orange eyes, the next, rows of starry silver ones. She never imagined anything like it.

Somethings swept overhead with a blast and a boom which shook everything in the room. A second something followed, with a long, shrill roar. Calcifer pulsed nearly black, and Sophie's skin fizzed with the back blast from the magic. And a taste of tin filled the air.

Markl scrambled for the door. "They're quite near!"

Sophie hobbled to the door too. The storm of magic seemed to have affected half of the things in the room. The skull yattered its jaw so hard it travelled around in circles. Packets jumped. Powder seethed in jars. A book dropped heavily out of the shelves and lay open on the floor, fanning it pages back and forth. At the top of the stairs, scented steam boiled out of the bathroom, at the other, Howl's harp made a series out of tune twanging. And Calcifer whipped about harder than ever.

Markl put the skull in the sink to stop it from yattering itself onto the floor while he opened the window and craned out. Whatever happened did it maddeningly out of sight. People in the houses opposite looked out of doors and windows, pointing to something overhead. Sophie, Mark dragged the door opened and sped into the street followed by the dog-man, who seemed surprisingly calm about the whole thing.

Sal quickly came out devested of her witch's dress.

People filled the street looking upward. Sal shook her head at them as they ran down Elm Street. "In the city where public executions, duels, bar fights and strange events regularly punctuated the daily round, the inhabitants have brought the profession of interested bystander to a peak of perfection. Anything, especially a magical feud is just another spectator sport. And Lord Vetinari thought football would fix that,"

A huge black cloud boiled and twisted just above the chimney tops. Black and rotating on itself violently. White flashes not quite like light stabbed through the murk of it. But almost as Markl and Sophie arrived at the Watch blockade at the just before Cattle Market, the clot of magic took on the shape of a misty bundle of fighting snakes. Sal lifted one side of her coat to show her badge. One of the Constables nodded, and Sal hurdled over the yellow and black stripe barrier. She turned back to Sophie and Markl. "Stay behind the blockade," she ordered before she ran down Chittling Street. Above the snakes tore in two with a noise like an enormous cat fight. One-part sped yowling across the roofs and out to the Circle Sea, and the second went screaming after it.

Sophie and Markl joined the rush of people working around the barrier by using a different street to get to the docks. There everyone seemed to think the best view would be along the curve of the harbour. Sophie hobbled to get along it too, but she found no need to go beyond the shelter of the harbour-master's hut, partly because of the big guard dogs and the imposing men in Lord Harry King's employment.

Two clouds hung in the air, some way out to sea, on the other side of the river, the only two clouds in the calm blue sky. Quite easy to see them. Equally easy to see the dark patch of the storm raging on the sea between the clouds, flinging up great, white-topped waves. An unfortunate ship caught in the storm. Its masts were hitting it on all sides. The crew desperately tried to take in the sails, but one at least tore to flying grey rags.

"Can't they have a care for that ship!" someone said indignantly.

Then the wind and the waves from the storm hit the harbour wall. White water lashed over and the brave persons out on the harbour wall came crowding hurriedly back to the quayside, where the moored ships heaved and grinded at their moorings. Among all this a great deal of screaming in high, singing voice. Sophie put her face out into the wind beyond the hut, where the screaming came from, and discovered the raging had disturbed more than the sea and the wretched ship. Several wet, slithery-looking ladies with flying green-brown hair and thoroughly wet clothing dragged themselves up onto the harbour wall, screaming and holding long, wet arms out to more screaming ladies tossing in the waves.

A new screaming sounded and Rincewind came running towards them. And behind him, much to Sophie's astonishment, a large wooden trunk running of dozens of tiny pink feet. He paused at Sophie. "Oh, it's you," he said, now jogging on the spot. "Look sorry," he panted. "I should've know Sea Nymphs would be real. I mean I was once a prisoner of Dryads! I'm not letting them get me!" and he ran past them followed by the Luggage.

Sophie looked back to the women scrambling on to the dock. "Confound it!" she snapped. "The sea nymphs from the curse!" This meant only two more impossible things to come true now. But as she thought about it, the question about how the Witch of the Waste's curse could still affect Howl. Madame Suliman took the Witch's power away, but her curses still worked. Her words back on the steps came back to her. Even if she could remember how the spell worked, and still with her magic, she wouldn't know how to stop it. But, Sophie wondered, what's going to happen if the last bits do come true?

She looked up at the two clouds. Howl kneeled on the left-hand one, much larger and nearer than she would have expected. Still dressed in black. Typically, enough, he started over his shoulder at the frantic sea nymphs. He did not look at them as if he remembered them as part of the curse at all.

"Keep your mind on the opponent!" Markl yelled. He turned to Sophie. "He's fighting some other magic users,"

The opponent sprang into being. Standing on the right-hand cloud, in a whirl of flame-coloured robe and hood masking anything underneath, with arms raised to invoke further magic. The fact this person stood meant it could not be Madame Suliman, but since he or she targeted Howl it could be a magic user loyal to Madame Suliman. Howl's cloud erupted into a fountain of rose-coloured flame. Heat from it swept across the harbour and the stones of the wall steamed.

"It's all right!" gasped Markl.

Howl stood on the tossing, nearly sinking ship below. A tiny black figure now, leaning against the bucking mainmast. He let the magic user know he or she missed by waving cheekily. The magic user saw him the instant he waved. Cloud, magic user and all at once became a savagely swooping red bird, diving at the ship.

The ship vanished. The sea nymphs sang a doleful scream. Nothing but sulkily tossing water where the ship used to be. But the diving bird went too fast to stop. It plunged into the sea with a huge splash.

Everyone on the quayside cheered. "I knew that wasn't a real ship really!" someone behind Sophie said.

"Yes," Markl said wisely. "It must have been an illusion. It was too small."

As proof the ship rest much nearer than it looked, the waves from the splash reached the harbour before Markl stopped speaking. A twenty-foot green hill of water rode smoothly sideways across it, sweeping the screaming sea nymphs into the harbour, rolling every moored ship violently sideways, and thudding in swirls around the harbour-master's hut. Markl took Sophie and hauled her back towards the quay. Sophie gasped and stumbled in knee-high grey water. The dog-man bounded beside them, soaked to the ears.

They just reached the quay, and the boats in the harbour all just rolled upright, when a second mountain of water rolled over the harbour wall. Out of its smooth side burst a monster. A long, black, clawed thing, and it came racing down the wall towards the quay. Another burst out of the wave as it smashed into the harbour, long and low too, but scalier, and came racing after the first monster.

Everyone realised the fight would still rage and splashed backwards hurriedly against the sheds and houses of the quayside. Sophie fell over a rope and then a doorstep. Markl's arms came again and dragged her upright as the two monsters streaked past in a scatter of salt water. Another wave swirled over the harbour wall, and two more monsters burst out. Identical to the first two, expect the scaly one came closer to the black one. And the next rolling wave brought two more closer thought yet.

"What's going on?" Sophie squawked as this third pair raced past, shaking the stone of the jetty as they ran.

"Illusions," Markl said. "Some of them. They're both trying to fool one another into chasing the wrong one."

"Which is who?"

"No idea,"

Now, Sophie could hazard a guess the black creature would be Howl. But the confusion came from the number of pairs. Which could be the real Howl, did he indeed chase the real opponent, whoever they are.

Amazingly for Ankh-Morpork some of the onlookers found the monsters too terrifying. Many went home. Other jumped down into the rolling ships to fend them off from the quay. Sophie and Markl joined the hard core of the watchers who set off through the streets of Ankh-Morpork after the monsters. First, they followed a river of sea water, then huge, wet prints, and finally the white gouges and scratches where the claws of the creatures dug into the ground. These led everyone to an open area in the Morpork neighbourhood of Small Gods. The sign at the end of Merchant Street read,

DRAGON'S LANDING REDEVELOPMENT SITE

Sophie would need to asked Wilbert about what it meant.

By this time all six creatures appeared above as black dots in the sky, vanished into the distance. The crowd spread out across the site, hoping for more, and afraid of what they might see. After a while no one could see anything. Disappointed they missed it quite a few people turned away to leave when the narrative struck and when everyone else shouted, "Look!" A ball of pale fire rolled lazily in the expansive blue area. It must have been enormous. The bang which accompanied it only reached the watchers when the fireball looked like a spreading tower of smoke. The line of people winced at the blunt thunder of it.

Someone near Sophie muttered, "Bloody hell. It just like the last time," it sounded like Commander Vimes. The voice of Captain Carrot replied, "Not really sir, it was only two, one was the Noble Dragon and the other was little Errol,"

"Thank Captain, I was only making a comment,"

They watched the smoke spread until it became part of the incoming clouds. They went on watching after this. But, there came simple peace and silence.

Commander Vimes then shouted, "Right, that's it then. Everyone should return to your duties. Go on! Make sure everyone leaves Captain, tell Detritus to handle crowd control,"

"Yes sir," Carrot said. The crowd gradually split into separate figures hurrying away to jobs they left half done.

Nearby another person said, "I reckon they must have done for one another,"

Sophie and Markl waited until the very last, when it became clear it did indeed seem over. At this point Wilbert and Sal walked up. Then the group turned slowly back to Elm Street. None of them felt like speaking. Only Heen seemed happy. He sauntered beside them so friskily Sophie felt sure he thought Howl no longer existed. So, pleased with life when they turned into Elm Street and there happened to be a stray black cat crossing the road, the dog-man uttered a joyful bark and galloped after it. He chased it with a dash and a skitter straight to the doorstep, where it turned and glared.

"Get off!" it mewed. "This is all I needed!"

The dog backed away, looking ashamed.

Markl scurried up the door. "Howl!" he shouted.

The cat shrank to kitten size and looked very sorry for itself. "Open the door. I'm exhausted."

Sophie opened the door and the cat crawled inside. The cat crawled to the hearth, where Calcifer lay down to the merest orange flicker and, with an effort, got its front paws up on the chair seat. There it grew rather slowly into Howl, bent double.

"Did you kill the other magic user?" Markl asked eagerly.

"No," said Howl. He turned around and flopped into the chair, where he lay looking very tired indeed. "All that on top of a cold!" he croaked. "Sophie find the bottle of brandy in the closet, unless you've drunk it or turned it into turpentine, of course."

Sophie found the brandy and a glass. Howl drank one glass off as if it were water. Then he poured out a second glass, and instead of drinking it, he dripped it carefully on Calcifer. Calcifer flared and sizzled and seemed to revive a little. Howl poured a third glass and lay back sipping it. "Don't stand staring at me!" he said. "I don't know who won," he glanced at Sophie for a moment. "That, enchantress was mighty hard to come at. Relied mostly on their demon and stayed behind out of trouble. But I think we gave her something to think about, eh, Calcifer?"

"It's old," Calcifer said in a weak fizzle from under his logs. "I'm stronger, but it knows things I never thought of. And its half killed me!" He fizzled a bit, then climbed further out of his logs to grumble, "You might have warned me!"

"I did, old fraud!" Howl said wearily. "You know everything I know."

Howl lay sipping brandy while Markl found bread and sausage for them to eat. Food revived them all, except perhaps the dog-man, who seemed subdued now Howl returned. Calcifer began to burn up and look his usual self.

After finishing his dinner and the brandy Howl went upstairs. Everyone else decided to have an early night as well.

* * *

 **I don't really know who would take over a leader of the Lawyer's Guild, probably Mr Thunderbolt, maybe Emily King/ Simnel, but I'll cross that bridge went I get to it.**

 **I also decided old Lord de Worde died off-screen, or off-page as it were.**

 **There's not much I changed from this chapter, other than the minor details here and there.**

 **See you all soon my friends.**


	20. Chapter 20

At breakfast next morning Calcifer hide low among the logs. Sophie decided to bring the Witch of the Waste down since over the past couple of day she did nothing wrong, Sophie deemed her as harmless. Wilbert and Sal however decided to get breakfast elsewhere, Wilbert could get a meal at the University and Sal would have numerous options, from the many eateries in Ankh-Morpork and the Canteens in either Pseudopolis Yards or the Cable Street Watch House or maybe make her own meal in the cottage outside Mad Stoat.

The Witch looked at Calcifer, only turning away when Sophie offered her the porridge. Calcifer flared. "Don't feed her!" he called in a whisper. "That's the Witch of the Waste!"

"Oh, she's all right," Sophie said gathering more porridge into the spoon.

"She keeps staring at me," Calcifer protested. "It's freaking me out,"

"What a pretty fire," the Witch mumbled. Calcifer ducked further into the logs.

Sophie could not help but feel sympathy for the Witch, uh, Miss Esty Throckmorton, without her powers she quite suddenly entered her second childhood, indeed possibly went through it and out the other end into a second infancy.

Footsteps came from the stairs and Howl, without any jacket came ran down seemingly recharged from the fight yesterday and overflowing with energy. He swung around the end of the bannister and walked up to the table.

"Howl," Sophie said somewhat worried. "Hello,"

"Good morning everyone," he smiled and put his hand on his hips.

Sophie nodded. "I'm glad you're all right,"

Wilbert and Sal came in from Ankh-Morpork. The Vice-Chancellor carried a copy of the _Times_ , the front-page story talked about the magical fight yesterday. "Also," he mentioned sitting down, "the last of the representative have arrived, no doubt whatever happened yesterday is going to be discussed."

Howl meanwhile looked at the elderly Esty, who now glanced up at him. "The Witch of the Waste at my table?" he looked the Calcifer. "What possessed you to let her in my house, Calcifer?"

"I didn't let her in," Calcifer protested again. "Sophie crashed landed her plane into my face!"

Howl responded with a belly laughed and glanced at the hole in the wall. "I knew she would make a great pilot," he walked over to find Turnip-Head balancing on the Castle's tongue. "Looks like we have another addition to the family," he muttered before humming. "You've got quite a nasty spell on you too, huh? Seems everyone in this family's got problems,"

"Speak for yourself," Wilbert muttered, Sophie somewhat agreed, a lot of her problems were not her own fault. The Witch of the Waste contributed a comment from her own little world, "What a handsome man,"

Howl seemingly failing to hear, or just ignoring this turned around and addressed them, "So, we've got a lot of work to do. We're moving,"

"Moving?" Sophie asked. Markl added his own thoughts, "That's good," he said. "I'm sick of being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere," this caused some confusion in Sophie's mind, since she recalled Howl threatening to move the Castle a thousand miles away, could Markl have forgotten? Surely not since it would mean he could never see Martha anymore. Howl explained, "Suliman is hot on our trail, so we're going to have to hurry," he glanced back to Turnip-Head. "I'm afraid your spell is too strong for this move," he gave the scarecrow an apologetic smile. "You're going to have to stay behind,"

Markl and Wilbert helped with a few supplies. Sophie seeing this wondered if the shopping trip Howl sent Markl on the other day involved acquiring the equipment, such as the line marker machine and the white paint. Howl and Markl went out into the Waste while Wilbert and Sal finished measuring the inside of the Castle.

Sophie asked Wilbert as he passed, "Was this move the reason for all that activity over the last few days?" the Vice-Chancellor nodded. "Howl's got a new location to put the house in, we were measuring to see what needs to be edited so it will fit. We can't go back to Elm Street, not unless this room becomes a basement, maybe even a subbasement, Ankh-Morpork is built on Ankh-Morpork,"

As he walked away Sophie turned to Sal sitting down. "What did he mean, Ankh-Morpork is built of Ankh-Morpork?"

"Well," Sal brushed some dust off her sleeve. "You know how, aside from the Tump, the hill on the hub-turnwise side of the Ankh, the city is flat?" Sophie nodded. "Well, uh," Sal continued, "the River Ankh tends to, uh, flood, uh, sometimes. But instead of evacuating out of the slit filled basements the residents build an extra floor on the existing building brick up the way into the old basement and move up a floor, so the ground floor become the new basement,"

Over the last four thousand years, there are many unknown old basements, including an entire cave network below the ground made up of old streets and abandoned sewers, it has been continuously stated that anyone with a pickaxe and a good sense of direction could reach anywhere in Ankh-Morpork by knocking walls down in a straight line. Recently, the city's dwarf population has extended the underground regions to get around unimpeded.

"In fact," Sal finished, "it was those dwarfs who started the events which led up to the Koom Valley Accord,"

From outside Howl shouted, "All right Calcifer. Line her up," looking through the hole in the wall they could see the Castle slowly lumber over a magic circle drawn on the landscape. Howl and Markl returned inside and with Wilbert and Sal's help pushed the workbench table to the side of the living room. Put all the stools and chairs on top as well. Howl then ordered, "Everyone but me needs to keep off the floor." Sal helped the Witch onto the table as the other clambered onto it as well.

Howl took the notes made about the measurements and with a chalk drew out a symbol on the floor. A circle within an octagon, divided the circle in half and drew more symbols with the top half. He stood up and made sure he could stand comfortable within the bottom half of the circle. "There," he pocketed the chalk. "That should do it. Sit tight for a second," he walked over to the hearth. He took the shovel and lifted Calcifer out of the hearth. "Be gentle with me please," the fire demon whimpered. Howl carefully walked back to the circle.

"On my mark," Howl said holding Calcifer up slightly. He took a breath in, his hair and clothing moved and rippled by wind no one else felt. Howl raised his left arm to the side. The wind grew to be heard.

Calcifer burst into a roaring inferno. His flame turned into a light blue, with a sinister face, the noises he made. Sophie could tell his Calcifer screamed with delight, pain or both. Sal ducked and crotched behind Wilbert.

The room shook. The magic circle glowed. Sophie felt as if their piece of the world came loose, as evidence the living room started to squash and stretch, sickeningly. In the rumbled a new sound caught her attention. A legion of broken bricks and a new glass window jumped up and filled the hole in the wall, which quickly stretched and filled in with dark mahogany wooden skirting boards and became colourful with patterns. There came a load Pop! Part of the wall burst revealing a new room by the stairs. Space readjusted and new furniture filled the new areas, such as the cubby hole getting pushed back for another new room behind the stairs. Followed by a bed in the alcove and sofa in front the heath.

Finally, the spell died down. The room settled. Howl turned to everyone. "Moving's done," he said, he stepped out of the circle and walked to the have. "You can get down now,"

Wilbert looked about. "I didn't realise the new location would be this big," he slid off the table and lifted Sal down. "If, for some reason, we must move back to Ankh-Morpork the location would have to be somewhere on the Ankh side,"

Markl and Heen jumped down and ran about the place. Markl excitedly said, "This is great Master Howl, it's huge!"

Beside Sophie, the Witch smiled as Howl put Calcifer back on the hearth. "Oh, what a pretty fire," Sophie did not take much notice, instead she got down and worked to the new window. A bell rang, and she felt a sense of unsettling familiarity engulf her. The view out the window showed a town on the widdershins side of a river and faced directly towards the foot hills of the Ramtops. A shrill whistle blew, the room shook as a plume of black smoke covered the window. The 9:05. Sophie looked back slowly to the living room. "But this is…" she saw the well-known outlines of the old workroom. The castle room seemed to wriggle itself into place inside the parlour, pushing out here, pulling in there. The stairs for example now stopped at the door.

Howl's voice spoke up beside her. "I added another bathroom," he said opening the new door behind the stairs, showing Sophie the staff lavatory. He shut it adding, "Since our family keeps on growing," Sophie felt a little flustered at this last remark.

"Come over here Sophie!" Howl called. What now? Sophie wondered. So, Fanny sold the shop. I guess without me there to be exploited and make such wonderful hats business went down. She felt a little guilty now. The shop meant so much to her late Father and she abandoned it. She walked over the where Howl stood, by the stairs. "I added another bedroom," he opened the door. "Have a look,"

Sophie gasped. With the rearrangement she quite forgot the old layout. The new bedroom, a small alcove room in the back of the room. A work desk and a bed covered in gift-wrapped boxes and parcels. She walked cautiously in. Memories of the past filled her mind. Her life. Good and bad. As she came to remember she did like trimming and sewing the hats, but the dullness of it all, and the question of about if Fanny exploited her blackened them. Somehow, within this room, she a little more like her old, well, young self again.

She turned back to Howl, smiling in the doorway, hesitantly and asked, "Why'd you do this?"

Howl smirked. Behind him Sophie glimpsed Markl, Sal and the Witch playing. Howl replied, "So we'd have a room which suited you. Do you like it?"

Not sure what to think, why Howl would do this? The fact Fanny sold the shop in just over a fortnight sadden her. Of course, the question arose, what would she do? She defaulted to her excuse. Glancing back at the window she did not want to look at him as she replied, "Of course. It's prefect for a cleaning lady,"

"I got you some new clothes too," Howl added as she looked at the presents. "But you can open them later," he walked away but called back, "Come on Sophie! You at this!" Sophie still felt shocked and dismayed at all this. She left the hat shop to break the spell and possibly seek her fortune. Now she returned so suddenly, partly against her will, with neither. And now, instead of being an employee and eventual heir to her late Father's shop and trade, she acted as a mere cleaning lady for a wizard and would be carrying for the Witch who put her in this situation in the first place.

Deciding to humour Howl, maybe he did this as some cruel subtle joke as punishment for being so curious, or maybe he truly and sincerely took pity on her. She hobbled out of her old workroom, her new bedroom, and into the living room. The Witch stood at the window which used to look out to Porthaven. Presumably the house Wilbert bought back from Fourecks did have a front window and Howl adapted it to fit the Porthaven house.

Markl opened the front door and excitedly proclaimed, "All right! A courtyard," and he and Heen continued playing. Maybe Markl when he went on the supply errant found out about the shop, after all it meant he could see Martha every day now, this certainly explained his happiness at the news of the move. Howl reached the bottom of the steps and smiled as the two played. "That shop's ours too," he called as Markl and the dog-man ran in to explore it. Somewhere in the main shop build would be Sophie's old bedroom, she wondered if she should move the things she left in there to her new room.

As she approached Howl shut the day asking, "See that new colour on the dial?" the colour wheel in fact sported two new colours, replacing the blue and red of Porthaven and Kingsbury with yellow for Market Chipping and a pink. Howl turned the knob to the pink. "There's a new portal," he said. Bright sunlight streamed out of the window above the doorway. Howl opened the door and the house filled with the scent of sweet meadow. Sophie gasped. Howl looked back and smiled. "It's a present for you," he gestured out to the flower covered field. "Come see," he smoothed.

Slowly Sophie descended and stepped out. She gave a gasping sigh as she looked about astonished. A meadow nestled in the Ramtops. It partly resembled the marches up in Enlightenment Country. A small lake. Wild flowers grew, and bird chippered as fluffy white clouds floated leisurely over the scene. Howl took her hand and guided her further in. "Do you like it? It's my secret garden." Howl placed Sophie's hand on his elbow to act as the gentleman.

Sophie followed in a message of reassessment. "It's incredible," she mumbled. As they walked she realised this could not be out of pity, he did this to please her. Quite why, she couldn't fathom. Still she needed to understand the effort he put in. "Did you use your magic to make this?"

"Only a little," he replied. "Just to help the flowers grow," still more than enough in her mind. Sophie let the moment overtake her, forgot about her problems for a moment and simply enjoy herself, after all, Howl seemingly wanted her to. They reached a stream and Howl jump over and helped her leap across. She felt so full of energy now, all the pent-up vigour she held in from working in the hat shop alone, unable to release as an old woman, it all came out. For the second time today and since her rants against Madame Suliman and Mr Slant she felt truly like herself.

She skipped to the edge of the lake. The first time she skipped in years. She smiled and looked back at him. "This place is gorgeous Howl! It's like a dream,"

Soaking in the site it felt like her at the edge of Star Lake, only, she paused not quite sure how to put it.

"Sophie?" Howl asked. She slowly turned back to him style content, thankful for his present. "It all seems so familiar, yet I know I've never been her before," some slightly doubt formed in her first thoughts, but both her second and third stopped it from taking over. "I feel so at home," she quietly announced.

"Come with me," Howl soothed as he reached out his hand. Sophie complied to see more of Howl's gift to her gladly followed. "Kay," she took his hand and he hurried over the crest of a hill. As he stopped Sophie smiled at the sight at the bottom. "Look there," Howl said. A little weather-beaten cottage sat on a stone dock on the edge of the lake, with a waterwheel turned picturesquely. Sophie spoke her mind, "What a cute cottage,"

"That was my secret hideaway," Howl explained, "I spent a lot of time here by myself when I was young," Sophie looked up at him. "You were alone?" she asked. A little bit like me in the backroom of the hat stop, Sophie mused, maybe a lot of his actions weren't pity, but sympathy on equal ground.

Howl looked at her and continued, "My Uncle, who was a wizard gave me this place as my private study," Sophie then remembered Howl's sister Megan mentioning something about an uncle with great hopes for Howl. This all suddenly seemed a little too much, a bit like Howl wanted some sympathy. He did not seem to register Sophie's expression and carried on, "and now you can come here whenever you like," he started to move forward. Sophie however remained where she stood and reluctantly let her hand leave his. Howl noticed, he slowed to a stop as his expression turned to concern. "What's the matter?" he asked,

"It's," Sophie paused, she needed to be frank. "You're scaring me. I have this weird feeling that you're going to leave," Howl posture softened, it virtually confirmed it to her. "Howl," she pleaded. "Tell me what's going on. Please. I don't care if you're a monster," Howl smiled softly at heard open admission. He turned face her and slowly approached to looked at her levelly. "I'm just setting things up so that all of you can live comfortable lives Sophie," he turned to gaze at the meadow. "With all the flowers you've got in this valley you could easily open a flower shop. Right?" he finished and looked back at her hopefully. "I'm sure you'd be good at it."

While he said this, Sophie lowered her head. "So, you are going away," she said mournfully. She looked at him desperately. "Please Howl, I know I can be of help to you," she sighed and looked away. "Even though I'm not pretty," Wilbert said self-esteem would led to beauty, but right now, she did not feel any esteem, just worry. These past few minutes she did not have any problems, but now Howl's comments made them come back. "All I'm good at is cleaning,"

"Sophie?" Howl said quickly. "Sophie, you're beautiful," her second thought reacted so strongly she almost spook them out load. I bet you say that to all the girls. He did not address her desire to help him. This felt very old. Any remaining confidence drained away. She put on a brave face anyway. "Well, the nice thing about being old is you've got nothing much to lose,"

Howl's expression looked disappointed. But looking at him both as a woman and as a witch, Sophie couldn't read it. Suddenly he flinched and looked to his right. Sophie wanted to ask, but he held up a hand. She turned to her left to follow Howl's sightline.

Something emerged from the low clouds and a reflection bounced if. The multiple flapping wings made Sophie understand.

"What is that thing doing out here?" Howl asked, speaking for them both.

"A battleship?" Sophie asked for confirmation.

"Still looking for more cities to burn," Sophie watched it fly. With Howl's comment it made her wonder about the location. Somewhere in the upper Waste, the rough and ill-defined border between Ingary and Strangia. The gnarly ground served as the border markers since it made cross from one nation to another by foot or cart very hard to navigate. A border not because people weren't allowed to cross it, more they just couldn't. But then again, Howl mention about his uncle, maybe this is a valley in Llamedos. If so, she thought, whoever they are, they're violating another, neutral nation's airspace.

"It is the enemies or one of ours?" it made her sick even to make a distinction, she preferred to be on neither side. Howl agreed. "What difference does it make?" As Sophie continued watching Howl walked forward. Sophie turned around to again look where he did.

A small square building, like a stone outhouse stood in the middle of a flower dotted hill. Presumably where the Castle entrance would be. Another flying battleship clacked its flightpath over the hill and sailed almost directly passed them. Howl held her by her shoulder and kept her close to him as it drew level showing the golden and pink of Ingary. He growled, "Those stupid murderers."

On the bottom of the plane innumerable bombs hang waiting. Sophie sickened at the possible results of them. Howl thought so too, "We can't just let them fly off with all those bombs," he raised his hand and waved it at the battleship. The flapping wings jammed. Shouting and sirens sounded. Slowly the ship started to lose height.

Sophie felt a little whiplashed. Did Howl just do something seriously to the workings? "What's happening? What did you do?"

"Just messed with it," Howl smugly replied. "They won't crash though," Sophie notice right held the left, which she stared down, small black feather sprouted from it and his fingernails curled into long claws. "Oh," she gasped. "Howl!"

Howl ignored her. "Uh oh," he said looking at the battleship and grinned. "Here they come," Sophie gasped again and looked to the ship as well. From the back ejected a platoon of monsters. All identical ugly. Bulbus, wings like flippers. Eerily like the Witch of the Waste's henchmen, they wore masks and white top hats. Howl explained, "Those things are Suliman's henchmen," before she could react, he grabbed her. "Let's go!" and took off at an alarming pace. "Faster!" he called. "We need to take off!" Sophie watched with dread as he, more seamlessly than when Madame Suliman forced him to, transform into his bird form.

His feathery hands took hers and his wings flapped. Sophie still ran as he pulled her off the ground gasping in protest. She wailed as they soared over the lake. He turned in the air and flew straight of the entrance building. "All right," he called. "You're going in,"

"No!" she yelled. "Don't let go!" but he did. She flayed as the door came nearer. It opened for her and she tumbled into the steps. Immediately after the door changed to Market Chipping and a Markl rushed in. He stopped when he saw her. "Sophie?" he asked. "What happened?"

Sophie rubbed her back at the rough landing and groaned. "I'm too old to be treated like this!" she blurted out. She did not like flying. Well, she thought again. I did feel comfortable in the air when Howl and I leapt over the town on the fateful May Day, and I fairly enjoyed the broomstick rides with Sal. Maybe I just didn't like certain ways of flying. Certainly, going up didn't discourage me. But, what with this awkward end to Howl impromptu flight and the crash into the castle, it seems to be the various ways of coming down.

Sal helped Sophie up and she sat at the sofa by the hearth. The Witch fell asleep by the window and Calcifer looked annoyed.

A knock came on the door. Calcifer grumbled. "Garden door," Sophie dreaded. "It's not one Madame Suliman's henchmen?"

"No. It's a gremlin," this still caused Sophie some terror. Sal patted her shoulder. "Don't worry I'll take care of him," she went to the door. Sophie craned her neck to listen. The general gist of the conversation boiled down to how the gremlins would have sabotaged the warplanes but Howl got to them first. This made Sophie sigh. Howl could be so impulsive sometimes.

* * *

As the evening came Sophie retreated to her work/bedroom and examined the new clothes Howl brought her, starting with the ones on the bed. They all appeared to be for her, if she were still eighteen and young. This confused her. Maybe Howl bought them with Lettie or Miss Susan in mind instead of her. Still, whoever they ended up with, the clothing would need some touching up. However, knowing the unpredictability of her magic, she did not speak lest she accidentality caused a nightgown to come to life and start terrorizing Market Chipping, thinking it a ghost.

A knock rapped on the door. Sophie turned. It opened and Markl in his bed clothes with Heen at his heels hesitantly stepped in. "Uh," he whimpered. "Goodnight Sophie,"

"Goodnight Markl," the boy almost shut the door before looking back into to add, "Oh, don't worry about Master Howl, Sophie. Sometimes he likes to good away for days on end," Sophie put on a smile, she knew he meant well, but his words did little to encourage her. "Thank you, that's good to know,"

After waiting for Markl to fall asleep she went to help the Witch of the Waste, she kept calling Miss Throckmorton the Witch of the Waste, some names just stick. She put the blanket over the old woman and asked, "Need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine," Esty replied. Sophie patted the sheets. "Well, goodnight then," and walked slowly away. From behind her came a voice. "You're in love," Sophie stopped just at the currents and glanced back. The face like a silkworm looked back knowingly, Esty now resembled a distorted mirror image of Nanny Ogg. Since she no longer counted as a witch, Sophie did not look at her as a witch. However, she could still be a wise old woman. "Don't deny it," she said. "You've been sighing all day."

Sophie turned back and sighed again, she could do with some confidence, and she also could, not out load at least, admit it. Ever since Madame Suliman's comments she thought about it in the back of her mind, only now with little else to focus on, it come to forefront. She returned to the Witch's bedside and slumped with a more moaning sigh. Miss Throckmorton smiled. "Just as I thought," Sophie glanced at her. "Have you ever been in love before?"

"Of course, I have," Esty replied. "I'm still in love," this knocked Sophie back a little, she gasped. Howl really did a number on her. She explained, "Strapping young men are so difficult to deal with," she became very pleased with herself. "But their hearts I just adore," Sophie glared. She really did act like a distorted Nanny Ogg. Her comments about Wilbert and Mr Swivel on the approach to the Palace in Kingsbury, and then her absentminded remarks about Howl came back to her. Howl ended up breaking the hearts of young girls, so how many young men did the Witch mess with in her time? "You're terrible,"

"And they're so cute too," the Witch added.

A giggle sounded, and Sal walked up to the curtains. "This is like the arguments Magrat and Agnes got stuck witnessing between Granny and Nanny," Sophie could only imagine.

A siren sounded. Sophie got up. "What's that?"

"It's an air raid siren," the Witch hazarded. Sal joined Sophie at the window, as bells added to the warning. Sophie glanced back to the Witch. "Air raid?" She hoped Howl would not get caught in it, or any other while he made his way back.

"It's a long way off," the Witch said, and she grinned. "But you'd better not go outside tonight. I'm sure Suliman's henchmen are looking everywhere for this place," she glanced at Calcifer. "What a good fire," she commented. "He keeps this house so well hidden."

Sal nodded. "I can see he's necessary, but," she sighed. "I just get so nervous around fire. A little bit like most wizards' views on gods," she glanced at the window. "I think for the foreseeable future I'll stay in the cottage at Mad Stoat. I don't think I could survive the bombing."

Sophie glanced at Sal. Over the fortnight they knew each other she saw Sal get shaky and flinch at flames. She couldn't really blame her, childhood trauma. If children could be afraid of clowns and it carried on into adulthood the same thing would apply to having memories of being almost burned to death.

But one comment intrigued her. "What do you mean, most wizard and gods?" Sal glanced at the Witch. "I think we should leave Ms Throckmorton alone for the night," she nodded to the Witch and escorted Sophie to the other end of the room. Sal also pronounced Miss in the off-handed manner as Wilbert. Sophie guessed Sal still did not trust Esty, understandable, as a former Cackling witch she must have greatly marred the reputation of witches in Ingary.

"Generally," Sal began, "wizards don't believe in gods in the same way that most people don't find it necessary to believe in furniture. They know they're there, they know they're there for a purpose, they'd agree that they have a place in a well organised universe, but they wouldn't see the point of believing, of going around saying 'O great table, without whom we are as naught'. Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or not, or exist only as a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore the whole business and, as it were, eat off your knees."

Sophie cringed slightly. "I hope you're quoting someone," Sal nodded, but her green eye showed some confusion. "I know it's a quote from somewhere, but I cannot figure out the precise where," Sophie nodded. "Now, don't take this the wrong way Sal, but, Wilbert has struck me as a very contradictory wizard…"

"Oh, it's alright, I know what you mean, I think Wilbert does it deliberately. Although, it might surprise you to know, the bread is just compulsory. Professor Ladislav Pelc, Prehumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy, wears a fake one in public,"

"So," Sophie continued, "after hearing that, I have to ask. Does Wilbert worship any kind of god?" Sal nodded. "We both do," she looked about for something. Her visible lip smirked, and her green eye rolled. "Oh, well," she cleared her through again. "You've seen that topper on Wilbert's staff, the winged unicorn?"

"Yes," Sophie replied. "Is that a religious symbol?"

"Only to us, we're the only two worshippers the creatures. It started out as just play, but we both figured a religion must start somewhere. So, it's kind of jokey,"

Sophie wanted to comment but having learned about gremlins and seen a couple now, she decided to remain quiet.

She gave a giggling sigh before continuing, "I've actually seen a Unicorn running around the forests of Lancre," she blushed slightly. "As a virgin I managed to subdue it and got a few strands from its mane. And Wilbert managed to use the hair to add to his staff. In the big knob. You wouldn't believe how unyielding it is,"

Sophie tried hard not to blush. She decided then and there to go to bed.

* * *

 **I felt quite proud writing this chapter in Sophie perspective.**

 **How do you think I handled things?**

 **Farewell from now dear readers.**


	21. Chapter 21

Sophie and Markl opened the flower shop the next day. It could not have been simpler.

Wilbert repainted the shop front. In green and yellow curly letters both over and on the windows, he skilfully placed: HATTERS and under the name: FRESH FLOWERS DAILY. "Howl wanted it to be H. Jenkins, but I decided since it's you family shop Sophie it's yours more than his," Sophie just blinked at the paint drying. "I didn't know you could write so artistically,"

"Oh, when writing and copying spells you have the calligraphy right. Or else you might die of a misprint, as it were,"

Every early morning, all they needed to do would be to open the pink door and go out into the swimming green haze to gather flowers. It soon became a routine. Sophie took her scissors and stumped about, using the sweeping broom handle to test the squashy ground or snatch sprays of high-up choice roses. Markl took an invention of his own which he became very proud of. A large tin tub with water in it, which floated in the air and followed Markl wherever he went among the bushes. Heen went too having a wonderful time rushing about the wet green lanes, chasing butterflies or trying to catch the tiny, bright birds which fed on the flowers. While he dashed about, Sophie cut armloads of long irises, or lilies, or leafy orange flowers, or branches of blue hibiscus, and Markl loaded the bath with orchids, roses, starry white flowers shiny vermilion ones, or anything catching his fancy. They all enjoyed this time.

Then before the heat in the bushes grew too intense, they took the day's flowers back to the shop and arranged them in a motley collection of jugs and buckets Sal and Wilbert collected, some from the cottage in Mad Stoat, others Wilbert got by asking neighbours politely and then telling them more firmly he needed them.

Sophie and Markl put on their fine clothes, well not the finest, but in Market Chipping the Opprobrium Brothers clothes would more than impress. Something Fanny insisted on. It would attract custom. Sophie insisted they wore aprons. And after the first few days, when the people of Market Chipping simply stared through the window and did not come into the shop, it became very popular. Word got around about how Hatters now sold flowers like no flowers seen before, much like how they used to sell hat unlike any other hat shop. People Sophie knew all her life came and bought flowers by the bundle. None of them recognised her as Sophie, and this made her feel very odd. They all thought she must be the Late Mr Hatter's old mother. Sophie having met her old grandmother before she died knew she wouldn't be the type of woman to wear middle-class finery and sell flowers. "I was a cousin to Mr Hatter here," she lied to Mrs Cesari. "Close enough to get letters, not too close to be invited to any weddings of that branch," Sophie became known as Mistress Hatter, no one could quite tell you why, it just suited her. Sal reckoned in private they subconsciously registered Sophie's witchcraft.

Sometimes the left-over flowers cause a problem. Sophie could not bear to see them wilting overnight. She found she could keep them fresh if she talked to them. After this, she talked to the flowers a lot. She got Markl to make her a plant-nutrition spell, and she experimented in buckets in the sink, and in tubs in the alcove where she used to trim hats. She found she could keep some plants fresh for days. So, of course, she experimented some more. She got the soot out of chimney and planted things in it, muttering busily. She grew a navy-blue rose, which pleased her greatly. Its buds were coal black, and its flowers opened bluer and bluer. So, delighted with this, Sophie took roots from all the bags hanging on the beams and experimented with those. She told herself she never been so happy in her life. She told herself this.

She knew it deep down to be false. Something felt wrong, but Sophie could not understand what. Sometimes she thought about how no one in Market Chipping recognised her. She did not dare go and see Martha, for fear Martha would not know her either. She did not try and find Wilbert's seven-league boots and got to see Lettie for the same reason. She just could not bear either of her sisters to see her as an old woman.

Markl went off with bunches of spare flowers to see Martha all the time. Sometimes Sophie thought this might be matter with her. Markl always so cheerful, and left Sophie on her own in the shop more and more often. But this did not seem to be quite it. Sophie enjoyed selling flowers on her own.

Sometime the trouble seemed to be Calcifer. He got bored. Nothing to do except to keep the Castle moving along the lanes of grass and around the various pools and lakes, and to make sure it arrived in a new spot every day. Sophie could tell he began to miss Howl and the routine of lengthy baths, he wanted a chance to test the new plumbing. His orange face always leaned eagerly out of the grate when Sophie and Markl came in with their flowers. "I want to see what it's like out there," he said. Sophie brought him tasty smelling leaves to burn, which made the living room smell as strongly as the bathroom after Howl used it. But Calcifer said he wanted company. They went into the shop all day and left him alone. Apart from Sal, Wilbert and the Witch, Sophie's second thoughts would say.

Early one morning, a week after the shop's opening, Wilbert and Sal bought a small bit of lilac each and wore them in their buttonholes, and a couple of wreaths they made with, lilacs, lilies, dark red rose and hydrangea, before going into Ankh-Morpork with billhooks and sickles. Sophie made Markl serve the shop, something he protested to, "Young Sam invited me to his birthday party this afternoon, and I wanted to take Martha with me," Sophie sighed and smiled. "I won't be gone too long I promise I just want to see what they're up to," Markl grumbled but agreed.

Sophie followed the magical couple. Hubwards along Elm Street into Treacle Mine Road and along it as it suddenly changed into Cheap Street, turned widdershins onto Short Street and walked down it. Sophie glanced back to where Short Street quite oppositely ended some distance away at a pub called the Mended Drum. She caught someone flying out of it backwards.

Short Street in fact is the longest continuous street in Ankh-Morpork, the naming tells you something about Ankh-Morpork. It serves as an unofficial radius for the city wall. It runs widdershins from the Mended Drum, which sits on the banks of the River Ankh, and its T-junction with Filigree Street, roughly two miles to the Trading Gate. Thankfully for Sophie's legs, Wilbert and Sal only went as far as the next street and turned hubwards again into the Street of Small Gods and to the Temple of Small Gods.

Quite a large temple surmounted by its huge dome, sometimes serving as a meeting hall for the priests and priestesses of all the gods without enough believers to support a religious building of their own. Informally referred to as Small Gods, and over the years giving this name to the local neighbourhood.

All the cities around the Circle Sea have a special area set aside for the gods, of which the Disc has an elegant sufficiency, or so polite eloquent priests describe them as. There are roughly three-thousand gods on the Discworld and research theologians are discovering more every day. The most senior gods, of course, and of course barring the Lady, have large and splendid temples, Blind Io, Chief of the Gods for example has his largest temple facing the Temple of Small Gods. Later gods demanded equality and soon the holy areas sprawled with lean-to's, annexes, loft conversions, subbasements, front rooms, small and elegant flatlets, ecclesiastical infilling and trans-temporal timesharing, since no god would dream of living outside the holy quarter, or as it has become, three-eights.

Three hundred different types of incense burned and noise at pain threshold echoed as the priest vied with each other to call their share of the faithful to prayer.

The Temple of Small Gods did not go into this since it retained the No-Gods-land equal ground status. The cemetery of Small Gods is for the people who didn't know what happened next. They didn't know what they believed in or if there is life after death and, often, didn't know what hit them. They went through life amiably uncertain, until the ultimate certainty claimed them at last. It is not say these are atheist or non-religious, there is a difference between them, they do believe, they're just not sure what they believe in.

City Watch funerals tend to be held there, with burials in the cemetery just behind the temple.

Sophie followed Sal and Wilbert into the cemetery where they made a B line for a group of seven graves near a lilac tree. The headstone sat almost hidden in the vegetation. The two started hacking away at the branched on the tree with the billhooks and in Sal's case the sickle.

Sophie hid behind a gravestone, making sure not to stand on the actual grave, and watched.

After five minutes a group of people arrived. Sophie recognised Mr Dibbler, Mrs Palm, Mrs Battye and Corporal Nobbs, accompanied by the Agony Aunts and some younger girls. And beside Corporal Nobbs stood an old rotund sergeant, who looked at the pair critically. Wilbert wrenched another branched away and looked at them all and nodded. The sergeant eyed the lilac on their persons. Now Sophie saw all of them wore lilac somewhere. Mrs Palm carried a lilac wreath with a purple ribbon.

The sergeant spoke, "And what do you think you are doing?"

Wilbert replied, "Making sure the graves can be seen Fred," the now identified Fred narrowed his eyes at them. "In this time and place it is Sergeant Colon,"

Sal cleared a branch away and replied, not looking up at him, "Yes, sergeant," Sergeant Colon took a step forward. "May I ask why you two are wearing lilac?"

"We have our reasons sarge," Wilbert said working at yet another branch.

"Were you there?" Sergeant Colon asked. Corporal Nobbs inched up. "Easy Fred," Colon ignored him. "I'd remember if you were there," he looked ready to press his full weight of battering ram fat against the brink wall of muscle Wilbert wielded. "What reason do you have to wear the lilac?"

Both Wilbert and Sal replied together, "To remember,"

"Remember what?" Colon asked, almost ready to explode. Wilbert and Sal pulled their respective branches away to reveal the names on the gravestones. Together they indicated to the names. "Them," they said together.

Sophie squinted. Internally she cursed her aging eyes sight, expect as a woman of her social standing and education she did not in fact know any proper curse words so instead she went with Bother. But she managed to make out the names. NED COATES and DAI DICKENS. Sal knelt and caressed the craved words. She then pulled her curtain of hair back over her ears and looked at the gathered. "Dai Dickens," she said, "was my Mother, Bethan's uncle. She was ten at the time. She paid for the gravestones you know,"

Immediately Sergeant Colon's anger dropped, as did his stomach. Wilbert cleared some extra branches away from the grave of Ned Coates and explained, "And if Ned had not been betrayed so cruelly and died needlessly along with the others, I'd be a cousin of his,"

"Oh," Colon said. After a pause he said, or stuttered, "I, I, I don't know what to make of that," he turned to the others. "Should, uh, should that be allowed?"

"I think it should be," said an aged voice, but one which carried as much authority as Madame Suliman and Mistress Aching. Sophie hid further behind the gravestone and just peeked out. The crowd parted and a woman in a wheelchair rolled into view. Brown eyes, some brown in her greying hair, and a purple dress which look more expensive than most. "Just stop here Havelock," Sophie then notice the Patrician pushing the wheelchair, he wore a bit of lilac too. "Of course, Madame," and Sophie could make the capital letter. They stopped by one of the two more well-tended graves and she placed, Sophie blinked. A hard-boiled egg?

From behind Vetinari came Mr Drumknott and Commander Vimes. The Commander glanced at the grave the Madame put the hard-boiled egg by, then he walked up to the engaged couple. "Were you going to tell us this?" Wilbert shook his head. "Since you all collectively decided to let this part of history be forgotten, we decided to keep it private too,"

Commander Vimes steeled his gaze on them. "We let it lie because they earned it. They weren't heroes, they didn't die in glory, they were…"

"Only doing the right thing," Wilbert replied. "But is it right to allow them, and the events of their deaths become unknown?" he gestured out the city. "There are people out there who have no idea the Glorious Revolution happened," he paused and looked at the gathered. "Barring the other Particulars, I think everyone here are the only ones who know the story. What's going to prevent something like that from happening again?"

Lord Vetinari answered, "I assure you Vice-Chancellor as long as I'm Patrician, it will not," Wilbert said nothing, instead he and Sal continued moving the branches out of the way of the graves. Corporal Nobbs sidled up to Sal. "How did your mum pay for all seven?"

"She's got a lot of Agatean gold coins. A wedding present she said,"

Sophie, deciding she saw enough, hobbled away. As she turned into the Street of Cunning Artificer, she saw an odd figure walking solemnly up. A man in Watch uniform, Corporal stripes attached with pins to his sleeves, a whole bouquet of lilac tied to his helmet and a shovel over his shoulder. As they passed he gave a nodding smile and Sophie saw his grey-greenish skin and the stitching. Sophie paused and worked her memory back to the gravesite. The other well-kept gave included the name REG SHOE. She looked back at the strolling zombie.

Still, Sophie quickly made it back to the house in Elm Street and took over the shop from Markl. She wondered for the rest of the day about this Glorious Revolution. She felt divided over asking about it and wondering if she would get the same treatment Sergeant Colon nearly gave to Sal and Wilbert.

The roots Sophie planted became quite interesting. The onion became a small palm tree and sprouting little onion-scented nuts. Another root grew into a sort of pink sunflower. Only one grew slowly. When at last it put out two round green leaves, Sophie could hardly wait to see what it would grow into. The next day it looked as if it might be an orchid. It sported pointed leaves spotted with mauve and a long stalk growing out of the middle with a large bud on it. The day after Sophie left the fresh flowers in the tin bath and hurried eagerly to the alcove to see how it got on.

The bud opened into a pink flower like an orchid put through a mangle. Flat, and joined to the stalk just below a round trip. Four petals sprouting from a plump pink middle, tow pointing downwards and two more halfway up stuck out sideways. While Sophie stared at it, a shadow came over her. She glanced around to see Wilbert peering over her shoulder. "What is that thing?" he said. Bemused he chuckled saying, "If you were expecting an ultra-violet or infra-red geranium, you got it wrong,"

"It looks to me like a squashed baby flower," Markl said, coming to look.

Sal came up too. "I think I know what it is," she said and picked up the flower pot. She slid it out of the into her hand, where she carefully separated the white, thread roots and the soot and the remains of the manure spell, until he uncovered the brown, forked root Sophie grew it from.

"Oh dear," Sal uttered. "It's a mandrake root."

So, Sophie thought as she went to arrange the fresh flowers in the shop window. Almost all the curse came true. The only thing left, the wind to advance and honest mind. If it meant Howl's mind is the honest mind, Sophie thought again, there would be a chance the curse might never come true. She told herself it served Howl right anyway for going courting Miss Susan in a charmed suit, but she still felt alarmed and guilty. She arranged a sheaf of white lilies in a vase. She crawled into the window to get them just so, and she heard a regular clump, clump, clump from outside in the street. It did not sound like a horse. It sounded like a stick hitting the stones.

Sophie's heart behaved oddly even before she dared look out of the window. Howl said to Turnip-Head he couldn't join in the move, and as far as she could remember, she didn't give her anymore orders beyond "Just go and find some field and stand in it," she also didn't know how to feel about the order, she said it as a desperate suggestion when he first started following her, and since he seemed quite dedicated to fulfilling it. What could have changed his mind. She looked out the window and her eyes widened.

Not Turnip-Head. Her cane. The toucan headed walking stick bounced down the pavement. The paint on the face looked stained and withered into a look of determination. Sophie quite forgot about it. She left it by accident at the Palace. And my old hat, she thought, but shrugged. I can always get a new one. She then returned to watching the walking stick. Often whenever a person came both into view and hearing range the cane stopped and clattered to the ground. No one claimed it. As soon as the coast became clear, it tipped back up straight, turned which ever direction so it faced the shop again and continued hopping.

Mrs Earwig got it slightly wrong, Sophie surmised. I can't perform magic with it, but it is now magical. Sophie opened the door. The Stick, as Sophie thought it now need a name, jumped the steps two at a time and hopped into the umbrella stand. It gave a sigh, it's beak opened and a scent of vanish came from it. The Stick turned to Sophie. It spoke. The beak opened and shut, while a small, narrow, feather-like tongue waggled, "I hope I haven't caused an inconvenience with my absence ma'am. Only I needed to escape Kingsbury first, which occupied the first couple of days, then using whatever method of transport I could find," the voice, noisy, including loud barks, bugling calls, and harsh croaks in its words, but also carried a stiff and well decorated tone.

Sophie remained silent for a moment coming to terms with it. Finally, the words registered, and she shook her head. "Oh, no," she said, "I've managed,"

"For eleven days ma'am?" the eyes blinked. The paint and vanished changed again. Sophie could not really describe it. It didn't change colour, but the mode of the colours changed. It looked a little sad. "Then you have no need for me ma'am?" Sophie quickly came over and picked it up. She smiled. "I might not, but I can still want you by side or around. You've been a constant company to me. You could help support Esty, keep her in good order, and keep Calcifer company. But don't let Howl know,"

"If you want ma'am," the Stick replied. Sophie took it inside the Sophie and introduced it to Calcifer. The two started talking and making guessing games.

Markl went out to Cesari's next morning. Leaving Sophie allow in the shop. Hot. The flowers wilted despite of the spells, and very few people seemed to want to buy any. What with this, the mandrake root, Howl's disappearance for more than a week. She became downright miserable.

"It may be the curse hovering to catch up with Howl," she sighed to the flowers, "but I think it's being the eldest really. Look at me! I set out to seek my fortune and I end up exactly where I started, and still old as the hill!"

Here the dog-man put glossy black nose around the door to the courtyard and whined. Sophie sighed. Never an hour passed without the creature checking up on her. "Yes," she said. "I'm still here. Where did you expect me to be?"

Heen came inside the shop. He sat up and stretched he paws out stiffly in front of him Sophie realised he tied again to turn into a man. Poor creature. She tried to be nice to him, due to his situation being worse than hers.

"Try harder," she said. "Put your back into it. You can be a man if you want."

The dog stretched and straightened his back and strained and strained. And as Sophie thought he would give up or topple over backwards, he managed to rise on his hind legs and heave himself up into a distraught ginger-haired man.

"I envy, Howl," he panted. "Does that, so easily. I was, dog in the hedge, you helped. Told Lettie, I knew you, I'd keep watch. I was, here before in," he began to double back up again into a dog and howled with annoyance. "With Witch in shop! In bits and pieces, about her," he wailed, and fell forward onto his hands, growing a great deal of grey and white hair he did so.

Sophie stared at the large, shaggy dog now standing there. "You were with the Witch?" she exclaimed. She remembered the May Day evening vividly, she did not see anyone else beside the Witch and henchmen, but Heen said something about bits and pieces, she didn't want to image what he meant, but he felt truthful. "If so, you know who I am, and you know I'm under a spell. Does Lettie know too?"

Heen nodded. He shambled miserably into the yard.

"But why did You send you? Cats aren't exactly trusting of dogs," she wondered. She felt thoroughly put out and disturbed by this discovery. She went to talk to Calcifer.

Calcifer didn't seem much help. "It doesn't make any difference how many people know you're under a spell," he said. "It hasn't helped the dog much, has it?"

"No, but," Sophie began, but, just then, the Castle door clicked and opened. Sophie and Calcifer looked. They saw the doorknob turned to the black, and Sophie expected, hoped, Howl would come through it. Hard to say which of them became more astonished when the person who slid rather cautiously through the door, turned out to be Miss Susan. Calcifer for one thing ducked deep into his logs.

Miss Susan turned became equally astonished. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said. "I thought Mr Jenkins might be here."

"He's out," Sophie said stiffly, and she wondered where Howl went, if not to see Miss Susan. She didn't know how to feel, pleased Howl did not spend all this time courting Miss Susan, but she also felt uncertainty over Howl's well being.

Miss Susan let go of the door, which she clutched in surprise. She left it swinging open on nothing and came pleadingly up towards Sophie. Sophie found herself getting up and walking across the room. It seemed as if she wanted to block Miss Susan off. "Please," said Miss Susan, "don't tell Mr Jenkins I was here. To tell you the truth, I only slightly encouraged him in hope of getting news of my fiancé, Imp y Celyn, you know. I'm positive Buddy's disappearance is linked to Mr Jenkins,"

"I don't have any idea," Sophie said. "I've never met him,"

"Oh, I know that," Miss Susan said. "But this feels like the right place. Do you mind if I just look around a little to give myself some idea?" she tried to walk further into the room. Sophie stood in the way. This forced Miss Susan to snap her fingers. In an instant she stood by the work bench. "How very quaint!" she said, looking at the bottles and jars.

Sophie blinked, turned around to her and asked agape, "Are you a witch or something?" Miss Susan look at Sophie sharply. "I'm just something," Sophie narrowed her eyes. "Ronnie Soak gave me the same answer,"

Miss Susan flinched. "You know Ronnie?" Sophie nodded and explained as she herded Miss Susan back towards the door, "He's our milkman, and he explained about being Chaos incarnated,"

"I know him through, my Grandfather," she pointed to the stair. "What's up those stairs?"

"The bathroom and a few bedrooms,"

"And what's through the door on the other side of the courtyard?"

"A flower shop," said Sophie. Nosy Parker! Sophie's second thoughts protested. By this time, Miss Susan would either need to back into the sofa or out through the door again. She stared at Calcifer in a vague, frowning way, as if not sure what saw. Calcifer simply hid himself and remained silent. This made Sophie feel better about being unfriendly. Only people who understood Calcifer were really welcome in Howl's house.

But now Miss Susan made a dive around the chair and noticed Howl's harp sitting in the corner. She snatched it up with a gasp and turned it around, examined bits and then held it to her chest possessively. "Where did you get this?" she demanded in a low, emotional voice. "This is Imp's harp, he won this at his first eisteddfod,"

"I heard Howl bought it," Sophie said. And she walked forwards again, trying to scoop Miss Susan out of the corner and through the door.

"Imp would never part with his harp! I know he can't be dead. I'd know if he were!"

Sophie didn't know why but looked across to see where the human skull lay. But it still sat in the skin hidden behind a bucket of spare ferns and lilies.

"May I take the harp?" Miss Susan asked huskily, clutching it to her. "To remind me of Imp."

The throb in Miss Susan's voice annoyed Sophie. "No," she said. "There's no need to be so intense about it. You've got no proof it was his," she hobbled close to Miss Susan and seized the harp by its grip. Miss Susan stared her over with wide, anguished eyes. Sophie dragged. Miss Susan hung on. The harp gave out horrible out-of-tune jangle. Sophie jerked it out of Miss Susan's arms. "Don't be silly," she said. "You've got no right to walk into people's homes and take their harps. I've told you I don't know anything about Imp y Celyn beyond the general stuff. Now go back to Llamedos and wait for him. Go on." And she used the harp to push Miss Susan backwards through the open door.

Miss Susan backed into the nothing until half of her vanished. "You're hard," she said reproachfully.

"Yes, I am!" said Sophie and slammed the door on her. She turned the knob to Market Chipping to prevent Miss Susan coming back and dumped the harp back in the corner with a firm twang. "And don't you dare tell Howl she was here!" she said unreasonably to Calcifer. The fire demon chuckled. "I've never seen anyone got rid of so fast!" he said.

This made Sophie feel both unkind and guilty. After all, she herself walked into the Castle in much the same way and shed acted twice as nosy as Miss Susan. In absence of a curse word she made an infuriated sound.

She stumped into the bathroom and stared at her withered old face in the mirror. She picked up one of the packets labelled skin and then tossed it down again. Even young and fresh, she did not think her face compared with Miss Susan's, a Duchess after all would have generations of breeding to achieve her skinny attractiveness. And Sophie as the eldest knew she herself never got the share of beauty Lettie or Martha did. She hobbled rapidly back and seized the ferns and lilies from the sink. She hobbled them, dripping, to the shop, where she rammed them into a bucket of nutrition spell. "Be daffodils!" she told them in a mad, angry, croaking voice. "Be daffodils in June, beastly things!"

The dog-man put his face, around the back door of the shop. When he saw Sophie's mood he backed out again hurriedly. When Markl came merrily in with a large pie a minute later, Sophie gave him such a glare Markl instantly remembered a spell Howl asked him to make up and fled away through the back door.

Sophie snarled after him. She bent over her bucket again. "Be daffodils! Be daffodils!" she croaked. It did not make her feel any better with it being a silly way to behave.

* * *

 **I'm not sure if I went too far with Sal and Wilbert's backstories by connecting them to the Glorious Revolution that way.**

 **And yes, Bethan from** ** _The Light Fantastic_** **is Sal's mother. I imagine like all the others the marriage between her and Cohen the Barbarian didn't work out, but he let her have the money. Bethan would have been about 31 when she had Sal.**

 **There is also a small continuity error in** ** _Night Watch_** **when Fred and Nobby visit the graves in the beginning there stated to be wooden markers, whereas at the end when Vimes visits, the book it calls them gravestones. I'd say events changed slightly to have the gravestones there. As Sir Terry stated in an interview 'There are no continuity errors, only alternate pasts', and of course you could always blame it on the History Monks.**

 **Something the movie seemed to forget is Sophie's walking stick. It just disappears in the Palace.**

 **Until next time.**


	22. Chapter 22

Wilbert returned from Ankh-Morpork towards the end of the afternoon. He carried a familiar black jacket with him. It did not make Sophie feel any better. She gave him her very fiercest glare.

Wilbert stopped. "Did I do something wrong? Only the look your giving me could rival Sergeant Nyssa's, and as she's a gorgon that's saying something,"

Sophie only snarled, "What suit is that?"

Wilbert looked at it. "The one Howl wore to funeral, Captain Angua founded searching for Howl or the… other magic users. Might have been an enchantress, I'm still looking for leads. Anyway, does the suit matter?"

"Yes!" growled Sophie. "Which one is it really?"

Wilbert shrugged and held up one trailing sleeve as if he did not know which. He stared at it, looking puzzled. The black colour of it ran downwards from the shoulder into the pointed hanging tip. His shoulder and the top of the sleeve grew brown, then grey, while the pointed tip turned inkier and inkier, until Wilbert held a black suit with one blue and silver sleeve who end seemed to have been dipped in tar. "That one," he said, and let the black spread back up to the shoulder again.

Sophie somehow got more annoyed than ever. She gave a wordless grump of rage.

The dog-man pushed open the door and shambled in.

Wilbert stared at it. "You've got an Old Chalk Sheepdog now," he reached down and stroked it. "One of the farmer near our house had one, sent him down to shops. Sal loves the breed," he gave a small chuckle. "The farmer's dog tried to herd us, me, Sal, and my siblings," he looked back at Sophie. "Two dogs are going to take a lot of feeding."

"There's only one dog," Sophie said crossly. "He's under a spell," Wilbert nodded. "I thought as much," he said, and knelt to look into what could be seen of the sheepdog's eyes, naturally hidden under his fur. "Sophie," he said, "why didn't you tell either me or Sal straight away? This dog is a man! And he's in a terrible state!" Wilbert whirled around one knee, keeping a hold on the dog. Sophie stared into Wilbert's icy blue eyes, realising Wilbert seemed angry.

Good. Sophie felt like a fight. "You could have noticed for yourself, you even said you thought so. Anyway, the dog didn't want…"

Wilbert too angry to listen quickly stood up and hauled the dog across the floorboard. "And so, I would have done, if I didn't have things on my mind," he said. "Come on. I want you in front of Sal," he turned to door to Mad Stoat.

Presently Markl came down the stairs. Wilbert looked at him. "Did you know this dog was really a man?" Wilbert said still gripping the reluctant mountain of dog to keep him for rushing up the steps.

"He's, not, is he?" Markl asked, shocked and surprised.

"Then I'll let you off when Howl gets back," he then glanced to Calcifer. "You knew, didn't you Calcifer?" he said and Markl joined him in keep the dog restrained.

Calcifer retreated until he bent backwards against the chimney. "You never asked," he said.

"Do I have to ask? I've always strived to be honest, even to my own detriment. This is still my house no matter what Howl does to it," he growled. "Lying by omission is still lying. I can't be having with that sort of thing!" he returned to the dog. "This poor man is suffering due to a spell," he looked to Calcifer, "I imagined you would have sympathised," he shook his head at the fire demon. "Compared with the way the Witch of the Waste treat her demon, you live a revoltingly easy life, and all Howl asks in return is that you tell him thing he needs to know,"

Still infuriated he pushed the door open and he and Markl dragged the yelling dog into Mad Stoat. Sophie quickly followed. Wilbert pushed the back door to the cottage opened with his back and Markl rushed inside to explain to Sal. Sophie inched her way in as well.

For the first time Sophie saw the inside of Sal cottage, the home of a Research Witch. Sal explained witches rarely own stuff by themselves. Virtually everything in the cottage is own by the cottage which is passed from one witch to the next. Sal explained Margat when she occupied the place she filled it with supposedly magical knick-knacks which never worked, she took them, or discarded them when she became Queen of Lancre, but she left the library, complied by Goodie Whemper. Book after book filled with tiny meticulous handwriting detailing the results of patient experiments in applied magic. Agnes Nitt kept the books too, but she kept a few things of personal interest, gothic jewellery, more personal books and opera when she moved to Quirm. Sal put a few things of her own about too, and put them about in unusual places to make the cottage looked lived in.

These mainly concerned woodworking tools, as Sophie remembered Sal made her own broomsticks, and highly decorative, delicately made objects. Sal's surprising strength showed themselves in both, something to use it with, and something to avoid using it with.

Sal rubbed the dog's hairy face. "Oh, you poor thing," she said. As she did this the dog shape faded away inside the man shape. It faded to dog again, the back to man, blurred, then hardened. Finally, Sal rubbed the cheeks of a ginger-haired man in a crumpled brown suit. Apart from his anxious look, her face conveyed a total lack of personality.

Wilbert came to sit beside Sal. "Now, who are you, my friend?" he asked.

The man put his hands up and shakily felt is face. "I, I'm not sure."

Sal shut her eyes for a moment. Both she and man went still for a moment. After a minute or two Sal fell back and clutched her forehead. "His mind's a mess. Pieces of memory scattered, too small to understand properly, and they don't fit together. It's only his memories after the spell that are coherent. The Witch of the Waste put it on him. He's been called Heen,"

Wilbert flinched and blinked. "Madame Suliman's errand dog?" he glanced at Sophie. "Another thing you weren't going to tell us?"

Sophie felt a twinge of guilt. "Heen made me promised not to let Howl know," Wilbert nodded. "Well, you promised, I can accept that. But knowing Howl, he's probably already figured it out," he got up and helped the ex-dog into a chair. "Sit here and take it easy, and tell us what you remember, I don't want Sal trying too hard at Borrowing a human mind," he hummed. "By the feel of you, the Witch had you for some time."

"Yes," said Heen, rubbing his face again. "Someone took my head off. I, I remember being on a shelf, looking at the rest of me. Sometime later the Witch came, I can't remember the rest,"

Markl turned astonished. "But you'd be dead!" he protested.

"Not necessarily," said Sal. "You haven't learnt that type of witchcraft, and I hope you never do. Normal magic, the kind used by most wizards and witches has a way of flowing with the universe. Because they are a part of the universe, it keeps within the laws and boundaries of the universe…"

What is magic?

There is the wizards' explanation, which comes in two forms, depending on the age of the wizard. Older wizards talk about candles, circles, planets, stars, bananas, chants, runes, and the importance of having at least four good meals every day.

Younger wizards, particularly the pale and thin ones who spend most of their time in the High Energy Magic building, chatter at length about fluxes in the morphic nature of the universe, the essentially impermanent quality of even the most apparently rigid time-space framework, the implausibility of reality, and so on: what this means is they have got hold of something hot and are gabbling the physics as they go along.

Wizards' magic tends to focus on the realms and phenomena beyond the world which we see, whether through the heavens, the hells or the parasitic dimensions and netherworlds beyond our native plain of existence or in the sub-atomic worlds beyond human sight. The wizards spends their lives learning how these might be used to understand the real world and change it for the better.

Then there is the witches' explanation, which comes in two forms, depending on the age of the witch. Older witches hardly put words to it at all, but may suspect in their hearts this, the universe really doesn't know what the hell is going on and consists of a zillion trillion billion possibilities because people can think so differently to the next person, and reality could become any one of them if a trained mind rigid with quantum certainty inserted itself in the crack and twists; if you really needed to make someone's hat explode, you just needed to twist into the universe where a large number of hat molecules all decide at the same time to bounce off in different directions.

Younger witches, on the other hand, talk about it all the time and believe it involves crystals, mystic forces, and dancing about without clothes on.

Witches' magic relies a lot more of the real world. Using what is to hand to make a world a better place to live in.

Everyone may be right, all at the same time. This is the thing about quantum.

Wilbert and Sal tend to toe the line between their respective magics explanations. Wilbert likes the showmanship and tradition with the candles, horoscopes and chalked magic circles, it is all harmlessly traditional, but when push comes to shove his will take the faster methods his classmates have developed. Sal likes Headology and changing the world through perspective, but she's also aware of nature spirits and the dancing, though she never does it undressed, she's too embarrassed and dancing, unsupported, might be a little uncomfortable.

Sal continued her explanation, "So, called dark magic on the other hand... I'm not talking about necromancy or demons and such Evil creatures, there are far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that is precisely because they value souls very highly; evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considers the universe worth stealing. But the Things living in grey worlds beyond the universe would trample and destroy without even according its victims the dignity of hatred. Wouldn't even notice them,"

Sal shuddered but continued further, "It's unnatural, the opposite of nature. What we see as corruption is merely the small piece of the unnatural trying to cancel out the overwhelming amount of natural. It breaks down the laws of nature and does whatever nature can't do. It ends up rotting the soul of whoever's using it until there's nothing left. After which your taken by, Them,"

Markl inched closer. "Creatures from the Dungeon Dimension?" both Wilbert and Sal nodded.

Sophie frowned her eyebrows. "The Witch said she waited for fifty years in the Waste, so she must have used that kind of magic before then. And Madame Suliman took her powers away. So how can she still be alive?"

Wilbert hummed and looked away. "She might not have used dark magic that often, some magics consider dark like necromancy or to give it its modern name, Post-Mortem Communication, are still within natural laws, they've just got asterixis on them. Killing someone and reanimating their corpse or turning them into a zombie is one thing, they must die first, that's natural law. But keeping someone's served body parts alive," he shook his head and inhaled wryly. "Whoever did this is going to have a lot to answer from when the Harvester of Mankind comes calling,"

Sophie tilted her head. "You mean Death?" Wilbert sighed and rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Am I not allowed to be flowery in my descriptions?" he shook his head and muttered, "Next time I see Miss Susan I should mention this to her, she might just pass it onto to him," this caught Sophie off guard and she recalled what happened earlier today. "Miss Susan's grandfather is Death?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, according to Professor Rincewind, Death adopted a girl named Ysabell and Death took on an apprentice named Mortimer. A couple of years later they came to Octarine Grass Country, to his family's farm just outside of Sheepridge as the Duke and Duchess of Sto Helit with their young daughter. She's appeared in Unseen University once or twice, and as the University has a certain relationship with the Teachers' Guild we've met a couple of times too,"

Wilbert frowned at the ex-dog. "But, whoever did this one, did not put you back together properly,"

Sal nodded. "The man is incomplete, and he's go part from some other men too,"

Henn looked more distraught than ever. Sal hugged him. "Oh," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. Uh, do you know why, uh, whoever did this, took you head off, uh, sir?"

"No," Heen said. "I don't remember anything."

Sophie knew this could not be true. She snorted rather.

Markl suddenly seized on a most exciting idea. He learned over Heen and asked, "Did you ever answer to the name of Justin, or Your Royal Highness?"

Sophie snorted again. She knew it to be ridiculous even before Heen said, "No. I don't think so, Madame Suliman called me Heen, but that isn't my name."

"Don't crowd him, Markl," said Wilbert. "And don't make Sophie snort again. The mood she's in, she'll bring down the Castle next time."

Sophie found herself angrier than ever. She stumped off to the shop, where she banged about, shutting the shop and putting things away for the night. She went to look at her daffodils. Something went horribly wrong with them. Wet brown things trailing out of a bucket full of the most poisonous-smelling liquid she had ever come across.

"Oh, confound it all!" Sophie yelled.

"What's all this, now?" said Wilbert, arriving in the shop. He bent over the bucket and sniffed. "You seem to have some rather efficient weed-killer here. How about trying it on those weeds on the front garden of Number Seven?"

"I will," said Sophie. "I feel like killing something!" she slammed around until she found a watering can and stumped through into the house with the can and the bucket, where she hurled open the door set to grey, onto the front of Number Seven Elm Street.

Heen looked up anxiously. They gave him the harp, rather as you gave a baby a rattle, and he sat making horrible twanging. However, he looked at it as if he knew it. In fact, whatever song he seemed to be playing, he played the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order.

"You go with her, Heen," Wilbert said. "The mood's in, she may attract unwanted attention."

So Heen laid down the harp and took the bucket carefully out of Sophie's hand. Sophie stumped out into the summer evening in Ankh-Morpork. While during the day the summer brought the city to a virtual standstill the evening became cool enough to reassume the standard activity of the city. Recruitment drives for the various regiments of Ankh-Morpork banged through the streets. Usually they started with the title of a Lord or some number. This surprised Sophie, more than ten days since to vote for action and seven days since the last of the advisors from the other nations arrived and the largest, most populated city on the Disc still needed to recruit its army. Politics and indecision meant her nation's people still feared for their lives. It only made her angrier still.

"Don't just stand there, Heen!" she snapped. "Pour some of that stuff into the can and then come along behind me."

Heen meekly did as she said. He just looked like a kidded puppy, which he could probably turn into, no fun at all to bully. This must be why Wilbert sent him with me, Sophie thought. She snorted again and took her anger on the weeds. Whatever killed the daffodils it worked very well, strong stuff. The weeds in the small front garden died as soon as it touched them. So, did the grass, until Sophie calmed down a little.

The evening calmed her. The air blew along the streets from the distant hill with the central clack tower. Not entirely fresh air, and rather warm and dry air as it must have rushed over the River Ankh. Which due to the magic dumped from Unseen University over the two-thousand years it existed, has made the River Ankh the only river in known existence to spontaneously combust.

Sophie weed-killed her way down the garden. "You remember a great deal more than you let on," she accused Heen while he refilled the can. "What did whoever did this to you, really want with you? Why did the Witch bring you into the shop with her that time?"

"She wanted to find out about Howl," Heen said.

"Howl?" asked Sophie. "But you didn't know him, did you?"

"No, but I must have known something. It had to do with the curse she put on him," Heen explained, "but I've no idea what it was. She took it, you see, after we came to the shop. I feel bad about that. I was trying to stop her knowing, because a curse is an evil thing, and I did it by thinking about Lettie. Lettie was just in my head. I don't know how I knew her, because Lettie said she'd never seen me when I went to the Chalk. But I knew all about her, enough so that when the Witch made me tell her about Lettie, I said she kept a hat shop in Market Chipping. So, the Witch went there to teach us both a lesson. And you were there. She thought you were Lettie. I was horrified, because I didn't know Lettie has a sister."

Sophie picked up the can and generously killed weeds, substituting them for the Witch in her mind. She knew she couldn't do it to Esty now, not as the helpless, if inappropriate old biddy Madame Suliman turned her into. "And she turned you into a dog straight after that?"

"Just outside the town" said Heen. "As soon as I'd let her know what she wanted, she opened the sedan door, picked up the pieces about her and said, 'Off you run. I'll you when I need you.' And I ran, because I could feel some sort of spell following. It caught up just as I'd got to a farm, and the people saw me change into a dog and thought I was a werewolf and tried to kill me. I had to bite one to get away. But I couldn't get rid of the stick, and it stuck in the hedge when I tried to get through."

Sophie weed-killed her way up the other half of the garden as she listened. "Then you went to Mistress Arching, or Madame Suliman?"

"I was looking for Lettie." Heen said, "She and Mistress Aching were both kind to me, even though they'd never seen me before. And Wizard Howl kept visiting Lettie. Mistress Aching didn't want him, and she asked me to bite him to get rid of him, but I needed to go and see Madame Suliman, I don't know why I just knew I had too, You the Cat decided to follow the orders. Before I left Howl began asking Lettie about you and…"

Sophie narrowly missed weed-killing her shoes. The gravel pathway smoked when the stuff met it. "What?" she exclaimed.

"He said, 'I know someone called Sophie who looks a little like you, but with strawberry blonde hair,' and Lettie said, 'That's my sister,' without thinking," Heen said. "And she got terribly worried then, particularly as Howl went on asking about her sister. Lettie said she could have bitten her tongue off. After I came back when you escaped Madame Suliman You and the Nac Mac Feegle told me about the day you went to the Chalk. She was being nice to Howl to find out how he knew you. Howl told her about the May Day and you were an old woman. And Mistress Aching said she'd seen you. Lettie cried and cried. When I came back she said, 'Something terrible has happened to Sophie! And the worst of it is she'll think she's safe from Howl. Sophie's too kind and too clever by half to see how heartless and smart Howl is!' And she was so upset that I managed to turn into a man long enough to say I'd go and keep an eye on you."

Sophie spread weed-killer in a great, smoking arc. "Bother Lettie! It's very kind of her, and I love her dearly for it. I've been quite worried about her too. But I do not need a watchdog!"

"Yes, you do," said Heen. "Or you did. I arrived far too late, even as a greyhound I can only run so fast. I stayed with Madame Suliman too long, maybe I should have hitched a ride on that plane with you."

Sophie swung around. Weed-killer and all. Heen leapt onto the wall and ran to the gate. The grass died in a long brown swathe behind his as he ran and jumped over the gate. A handsome watchwoman helped him up. The watchwoman asked, "Is something the matter, Miss Hatter?"

"Curse everyone!" Sophie cried out. "I've done with the lot of you!" she dumped the smoking watering can in the middle of the pathway, flung the gate open and trudged passed the watchwoman. "Too late!" she muttered as she marched. "What nonsense! Howl's not only heartless, he's impossible! Besides," she added, "I am an old woman." She heard the watchwoman called something, but she ignored it. Sophie could not deny something did seem wrong ever since the castle moved, or even before then. And it seemed to tie up with the way Sophie seemed so mysteriously unable to face either of her sisters.

She would go to match seven-league boots on her own two feet and not come back. Show everyone! Who cared what Mrs Earwig and Madame Suliman told her about Howl. Sophie failed anyway. It came of being the eldest. And both thought Sophie to be Howl's loving old mother anyway. Or did they? Uneasily, her memories of her encounters came back. Madame Suliman saw through her now she recalled. But Mrs Earwig? She realised a lady whose trained eye could detect a charm sewn into a suit could surely even more easily detect the stronger magic of the Witch's spell."

"Oh, confound that grey and scarlet suit!" Sophie said. "I refuse to believe that I was the one that got caught with it!" The trouble is, the blue and silver suit, and the others she saw him wear seemed to have worked just the same. Again, she could deny, to herself, the suits did not actually catch her, something else did. She stumped a few steps further. "Anyway, what if I do," she said with great relief, "Howl doesn't like me!"

This reassuring thought would have been enough to keep Sophie walking all night, if not for a sudden uneasiness sweep over her. A growling sounded off in down the street. Something leapt over her and turned around to snarl at her. At first Sophie thought it to be Heen. But I've never saw Heen take this shape before. A much larger canine stood before her. It looked like the dog which came with Captain Carrot and Jumpy after Sophie and Markl's attempt at catching the star. It carried a bag on its back.

The dog, she corrected herself, the wolf, grabbed Sophie's dress in her mouth and pulled her into an alleyway. In the darkness Sophie heard unsettling sounds. Instead of the wolf. An ashen blonde and attractively handsome woman cautiously walked up to her. Aside from the collar with a City Watch badge on it, she did not have stitch on her. Before Sophie could say anything, the woman held up her hand. "Please," she said. "Don't say anything, it's a closely guarded secret, and I'd like to keep it that way please," she then reached into the bag and pulled out a Watch uniform. Once dressed she approached Sophie more fully. "Captain Angua von Überwald, and Miss Hatter please return to your house, this is a matter of safety. You're in the Shades at night,"

Sophie remembered herself. She's right! The Shades are infamous, especially for the Syndicate and unlicensed thieves. It is considered dangerous even by the standards of the rest of the city, and not a place to be after dark.

"I'll help you home," Angua said. They walked in silence as they reached Number Seven. Angua smiled with a nod. "If you need to talk I'll be in Mrs Cake's Lodging House, until the wedding. Lady Sybil has promised us a house on the Isle of Gods near Pseudopolis Yards,"

"Thank you, Captain," Sophie felt a little flustered having witnessed what just happened. Angua smiled before returning to her patrol.

She went through the front door. She saw Wilbert and Markl sitting on the bench and hastily dismantling a spell. Sophie watched them as a witch, a listening in spell of some kind. Sophie stormed in, both faces shot nervously around towards her. Calcifer instantly plunged down under his logs.

Sophie walked straight up to Wilbert. After the Vice-Chancellor made a rant about how omitting details is a form of lying, how in the Disc could he justify this? "How long has Howl known I was, I am…"

"Under the spell?" Wilbert finished. He gave a sigh. "He made me promise not to say a thing about it, and he's been my friend for years,"

Okay, Sophie thought. He let me pass the omission on a promise, I should give him the same treatment. "You still haven't answered my question,"

"Since at least you first night as cleaning lady. The spell doesn't work when you're asleep. But knowing Howl, he probably spotted it the moment he saw you cooking breakfast. He's had several goes at taking it off you when you weren't looking. I gave him every spell I could find regarding the temporal gland,"

Wizards are certain of the existence of the temporal gland, although not even the most invasive alchemist has ever found where it is located, and current theory suggests it has a non-corporeal existence, like a sort of ethereal appendix. It keeps track of how old your body is and is so susceptible to the influence of a high magical field it could even work in reverse. The alchemists say it is the key to immortality, but they say the same about orange juice, crusty bread and drinking your own urine. An alchemist would cut his own head off if he thought it'd make him live longer.

Wilbert finished, "But nothing seems to work."

Sal, who walked out from the Witch's corner nodded. "I took you to see Mrs Ah-widge firstly to boost your confidence, and secondly hoping she could do something, but she evidently couldn't," Wilbert followed this up, "And Howl asked you to go and see Madame Suliman to show you how much he valued you,"

"Valued me?" Sophie yelled.

"Howl thought no one else could do it,"

"If he valued me so much, they why didn't he ask me how I felt about it? Or if he could change my clothes to make them look nicer?"

"By now you should know he's too vain to ask someone's opinion on trivial matters. He has this trouble of just assuming," he glanced up and shook his head. Then he returned to look at Sophie. "But let me make it clear. That, the move here to Market Chipping, and that secret garden. Howl did it all for you. And what do you do, you stubbornly remain an old woman. It's almost as if you like being an old woman!"

"Like being an old woman!" Sophie repeated.

Wilbert nodded. "I told you about the Librarian. He likes being an orangutan and has fought off every attempt to turn him back into a human. You seem to be doing something similar. You think therefore you are,"

This became too much for Sophie. Heen edged nervously in just then, carrying the half-full bucket of weed-killer. Sophie dropped her can, seized the bucket from him and threw it at Wilbert. Wilbert didn't move. The liquid mixture slowed briefly and bent around his body before reforming behind him. Markl ducked. The weed-killer went up in a sheet of sizzling green flame from floor to ceiling. The bucket clanged into the sink, where all the remaining flowers died instantly.

"Wow!" said Calcifer from under his logs. "That was strong."

Wilbert carefully picked the skull out from under the smoking brown remains of the flowers and dried it on one of his sleeves. "Of course, it was strong," he said. "Sophie never does things by halves." The skull, as Wilbert wiped it, became bright new white. He set the skull on the bench and looked at his sleeve carefully.

Sophie felt in half a mind to stump straight out of the Castle again. But she didn't know where to go. She didn't know if either Mrs Palm or Mrs Battye would have room for her, she couldn't make it to the Chalk, and she did not have any clue how to navigate Lancre. Instead she settled for stumping to the chair, where she sat and fell into a deep sulk. I'm not going to speak to any of them.

"Sophie," Sal said, "We did our best. Howl removed your aches and pains remember?" Sophie did not answer. Sal sighed and instead went crawling about the floor with a smoking rag, trying to get rid of the weed-killer. Sophie sat in the chair and said nothing. Calcifer kept bobbing up and peeping at her and going down again under his logs.

Wilbert took his staff and coat. "I may be back quite late," he said to everyone in general. "I've got a lecture at the University and I intend to give it. Madame Suliman might try something. So, keep all the defences up."

"All right," Markl said. Sal hummed her acknowledgement as she put the steaming remains of the rag in the sink.

Wilbert turned to Heen. "I think I know what's happened to you," he said. "It's going to be a real job to sort you out. But I'll do my best," he then paused. "I think until I'm ready you'd better remain incognito as a dog, if that's all right with you?"

Heen nodded and morphed back into his dog form.

As the door shut Sophie decided. I don't care if there's a war on, or about this curse on Howl, it won't happen for weeks. I wouldn't care if the Eve of Small Gods was tomorrow! I'm leaving.

* * *

 **You know I would have loved to have seen the Watch gorgon at work.**

 **The what is magic bit is a combination of Lord Wolfe's explanation of magic in his Inuyasha story** ** _Magic Cat_** **, the bits on wizards' and witches' magic from** ** _Lord and Ladies_** **and my own thought on the magic of the Discworld.**

 **I hope I got Angua's character right.**

 **See you soon.**


	23. Chapter 23

No one entered the shop today, so Markl decided to go and visit Martha again. He took a bunch of pink flowers from the counter and put his cloak on. Heen came with him for some exercise. He opened the door and stepped out. Suddenly he found why no one wanted flowers. Everyone seemed to be leaving town. Markl heard about refugees. He never saw the phenomenon before. All the townsfolk of Market Chipping orderly headed widdershins. Presumably to wherever refugee camps step up by the international alliance, or whatever it called itself, sat waiting.

"Markl!" came a voice. Markl took his hood off and looked about. From the crowd came a thin and fair girl. Markl waved at her, she waved back and ran up the stairs to him, she stood a little taller than him. Markl smiled sheepishly. "Martha? What's happening?"

Martha shook her head. "I don't know. The Mayor said everyone's got to leave town, message from the King or something," she twiddled her thumb. "I don't want to leave town, I left town to go to Mistress Aching, it kind of scared me," she blushed and looked away. "Can I stay with you and Sophie?"

"Of course," Markl said, then he stopped and grimaced. "What's Sophie going to say when she learns I told you?" he explained about the fit last night. Martha blinked. "I've never known Sophie to have a tantrum. She usually had to stop me and Lettie,"

A horn broke through the air. Some of the townsfolk got out the way as a steam carriage with the single number of 6 stopped in front of the shop. A young man, only a few years older than Markl and Martha sat on the driver's seat. The passenger, an adult woman in fine yellow with puffed shoulders and an ostentatiously decorated hat and an umbrella. A whizzing took Markl's attention next and Heen tried to hide behind him. Not easy when he took the form of the huge, spindly greyhound. Then Martha gasped and took his hand.

* * *

Sophie despite her vow to leave knew the just she needed to do. Sal always did her job as properly as she could. It would not look good for Sophie if she left something well begun and half done. She brought out the vase for the morning's flowers. The door to the shop's back entrance opened and three figures rushed into the courtyard. First Greyhound Heen wedged himself between her and the doorway to get inside. Then Sophie blinked as Martha rushed past her and said, "Hello, Sophie, sorry but I need to hide!" before Sophie could announced her shock at her youngest sister recognising her Markl started to speak. "Sophie!" he pointed back. "There's a strange lady in here!"

Sophie looked up. From the shop entrance to the courtyard came someone very familiar woman. Sophie inhaled. The woman gasped herself. Sophie plucked up courage and asked, "Mother?"

Fanny smiled widely and screeched happily, "Sophie!" laughing, Fanny and hugged her. This knocked Sophie over Fanny cried, "Thank goodness you're here! I searched everywhere for you. Oh my, look at your face! You're so old. Everyone's saying it's my fault that you left," she hugged Sophie tightly as if letting go would make her disappear again. "You'll forgive me, oh, won't you?" she sobbed into her shoulder again. Sophie just held her. "Mother," she cooed.

After Fanny claimed down. Sophie helped her up the stairs. Fanny looked around astonished. "I barely recognise the place!"

No, Sophie thought, there's not much of the original workroom left. Fanny paused at the Witch sleep by the hearth. Heen hid under the sofa. Fanny asked about the Witch, "Who is that woman? The landlady?" Sophie felt too awkward to answer, so she would just let Fanny think it. Suddenly she turned around and smiled. "Oh, I forgot to tell you I got married again!"

Sophie gasped. Fanny smiled and explained, "He's such a nice man named Sacheverell Smith, and he's filthy rich too so we can all live together again up the hill with Mr Smith!"

Sophie looked up at the hat Fanny wore. Cream silk with roses. Sophie remembered it only too well. She remembered what she said to it as she trimmed it. You are going to have to marry money.

A knock came from the door. A whispering voice called, "Ankh-Morpork door," Fanny blinked. "Who said that?" she looked to Sophie. "And what did it mean, Ankh-Morpork," Sophie sighed. "It's a little hard to explain. But I think it must be Mr Soak with the milk," she went to the door.

Fanny raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall the milkman being called Mr Soak,"

"Well," Sophie said, turning the knob to grey. "He's not from Market Chipping," she opened to door. She heard Fanny yelp, presumably at the smell. Mr Soak stood at the door smiling as usual. "Morning miss, your usual pints," he flinched and peered up at Fanny, then at the little bag she put on the workbench. "You might want to check inside that bag. Have a nice day," Sophie shut the door only for a hand to take hold of it. A face peered around. The woman much to Sophie's confusion looked as old as her, with white hair and wrinkles, but also young, with a ponytail and everything in between. On her head she wore a blue pointed hat with silver stars painted on. She smiled at her. "You must be Sophie, Tiffany and Wilbert told me about you, can I come in? Only Wilbert said I could, he's just behind me talking with Captain Angua,"

Unsure what to do, Sophie let the woman in. Fanny looked at the woman. "You're Sacheverell's mother aren't you. You look exactly as he described you," the possibly Dowager Smith smiled. "That's right, Miss Eskarina Smith,"

Wilbert quickly entered and looked confused. "Hang on, Esk," he said shutting the door behind him. "I thought Eisenbath Smith was your son. The one you told Tiffany you were so worried about,"

"He is," she began, but Wilbert cut her off, "Then how can they both by your son? Is reincarnation playing tricks? Are they one soul divided between two boys? What about…"

"Sacheverell is adopted,"

"Oh," Wilbert said. Eskarina smiled. "Anyway, Wilbert, you'd better get that book of yours before Sal arrives with the others from Mad Stoat," Wilbert nodded and went upstairs.

Fanny blinked. "Mad what?"

"What other?" Sophie asked Miss Smith. Fanny turned to Sophie. "And who was that? You have a wizard lodging here?" Sophie explained about Wilbert. Fanny blinked so abashed. "You're friends with the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University? You really have been on some adventures while you were gone Sophie," she threw aside her hat and her parasol and all of her grand manner. "Oh, I didn't know what had happened to you! I went to Martha and I sent word to Lettie, and neither of them knew. They changed places, silly girls, did you know? But nobody knew a thing about you! I've a reward still out. And here you are, working as a servant,"

"That's all right, Mother, I actually like living here,"

"Really?" Fanny asked, then she gasped. "I forgot, I have a car waiting,"

Wilbert then came down with a book. He gave it to Miss Smith and smiled taking his hat off. "Don't worry, madam, I'll wait with your driver. I think spending time with your family is far more important," before Fanny could answer Wilbert ran down the stairs passing Markl hiding there too. Turned the knob to the yellow of Market Chipping and quickly left.

Fanny deflated slightly. She sighed, "He's quite a gentleman," and murmured, "I hope he'll be all right," she turned to Sophie and started crying again.

Sophie founded she cried as well. She led Fanny to the chair. She pulled the stool up and sat beside Fanny, holding her hand. By this time, they were both laughing as well as crying. They were most powerfully glad to see one another again.

"It's a long story," Sophie said after Fanny asked her six time what happened to her. "When I looked in the mirror and saw myself like this, it was such a shock that I sort of wandered away…"

"Overwork," Fanny said wretchedly. "How I've blamed myself!"

"Not really," said Sophie. "And you mustn't worry, because Wizard Howl took me in,"

"Wizard Howl!" exclaimed Fanny. "That wicked, wicked man! Has he done this to you? Where is he? Let me at him!"

She seized her parasol and became so very warlike Sophie needed to hold her down. Sophie did not care to think how Howl might react if Fanny stabbed him with her parasol. "No, no!" she said. She felt some of the confidence in her rant against Madame Suliman and the memories of her and Howl in the garden together returned and she said, "Howl has been very kind to me." And she meant it Sophie realised. Howl showed his kindness rather strangely, but considering all Sophie did to annoy him, he acted very good to her indeed.

Fanny blinked for a moment. Then she stated, "But they say he eats women's hearts!" Fanny struggled to get up.

Sophie held down her waving parasol. "He doesn't really" she said. "Do listen. He's not wicked at all!" There came a bit of a fizz from the grate at this, where Calcifer watched with interest. "He isn't!" Sophie said, to Calcifer as much as to Fanny. "In all the time I've been here, I've not seen him work a single evil spell!" again another true thing about Howl to consider.

"Then I have to believe you," Fanny said, relaxing, though a little downcast. Sophie did not want to look at her as a witch.

"Though," Fanny continued. "I'm sure it must be your doing if he's reformed. You always did have a way with you, Sophie. You could stop Martha's tantrums when I couldn't do a thing with her. And I always said it was thanks to you that Lettie only got her own way half of the time instead of all the time! But you should have told me where you were, love!"

Sophie knew she should have. She took Martha's view of Fanny, whole and entire, when she should have known Fanny better. She felt ashamed.

Fanny could not wait to tell Sophie about Mr Sacheverell Smith. Miss Smith just smiled as Fanny did so. She launched into a long and excited account of how she met Mr Smith the very week Sophie left, and married him before the week ended. Sophie watched her as she talked. Being old gave her an entirely new view of Fanny. A lady still young and pretty, she found the hat shop as boring as Sophie did. But she stuck with it and did her best, both with the shop and with the three girls, until Mr Hatter died. Then she suddenly became just as afraid as Sophie about being old, with no reason, and nothing to show for it.

"And then, with you not being there to pass it on to, there seemed no reason not to sell the shop,"

Footsteps came from the stairs. Martha ran done and hugged Fanny. "Mother, I'm sorry, I thought bad things about you," before Fanny could say anything Martha then flung her arms around Sophie and shouted, "Sophie, you should have told me!"

Then even more happened. The colour wheel changed to the orange of the Mad Stoat door and opened. Sal came through, followed by Lettie and Mistress Aching, carrying a hamper between them and broomsticks under their arms. You the Cat rested on the brim of Tiffany's hat. Heen wriggled out from under the sofa and rushed to Lettie, changing into his human form mid rush, but he stopped himself before he ran into her. Still he looked a lot livelier than Sophie ever saw him before.

Tiffany put her hamper down. "We were in the area. Visiting Magrat, Nanny Ogg and Geoffrey, and Sal invited us in for an ideal bit of chitchat," she walked up to Miss Smith. "Hello, Esk," she said and gave her a hug.

In fact, they started a general round of hugging and exclaiming. Sophie thought it a marvel the Witch of the Waste did not wake up.

Lettie seemed very fond of Heen. While Markl carried the hamper to the bench and unpacked cold legs of mutton, wines and cheeses, with biscuits for it. Lettie hung on to Heen's arm in an owner like way Sophie could not quite approve of and made him tell her all he remembered. Heen did not seem to mind. Lettie looked so lovely Sophie did not blame him.

"He just arrived and kept turning into a man and then into different dogs and insisting that he knew me," Lettie said to Sophie. "I knew I'd never seen him before, but it didn't matter." She patted Heen's shoulder as if still a dog.

"But you had met Prince Justin?" Sophie said.

"Oh, yes," Lettie said offhandedly. "Mind you, he was in disguise in a green uniform, but it was obviously him. He was so smooth and courtly, even when he was annoyed about the finding spells. I had to make him up to lots because they would keep showing that Wizard Suliman was somewhere between us and Market Chipping, and he swore that couldn't be true. And all the time I was doing them, he kept interrupting me, calling me 'sweet lady' in a sarcastic sort of way, and asking me who I was and where my family lived and how old I was. I thought it was cheek! I'd rather have Wizard Howl, and that's saying something!"

By this time everyone milled about, eating mutton and sipping wine. Calcifer seemed to be shy. He went down to the flickers and nobody seemed to notice him. Sophie wanted him to meet Lettie. She tried to coax him out.

"Is that really the demon who has charge of Howl's life?" Lettie said, looking down at the orange flickers rather disbelievingly.

Sophie looked up to assure Lettie about Calcifer being real and saw Miss Susan standing by the door, looking confused. "Excuse me. I've come at a bad time, haven't I?" Miss Susan said. "I just wanted to talk to Mr Jenkins."

Fanny could not contain herself. "Sophie? You know the Duchess of Sto Helit as well!"

Martha shrugged. "If it comes to that Mother. Markl took me to meet the Honourable Samuel Vimes the Young," Fanny felt unsteady. Sophie quickly help her down to the chair. She returned to Miss Susan. "Howl is not here at the moment," she said, feeling a little guilty about ejecting her the other day. "Come and have a glass of wine while you wait encase he comes back."

"How kind," said Miss Susan.

But it seemed quite plain Miss Susan did not feel cheerful at all. She refused wine and wandered nervously about, nibbling at the mutton. In a room full of people who knew each other very well, and she felt an outsider.

Martha did not help either. She saw how admiringly Markl greeted Miss Susan after Sophie invited her in. She went and made sure Markl did not talk to anyone but herself and Sophie. Lettie ignored Miss Susan and went to sit on the stairs with Heen. However, Miss Susan kept glancing at Heen. Quickly she decided she waited enough. Sophie saw her at the door, trying to open it. She hurried over, feeling very guilt. After all she put her thought the other day and this morning. "Please don't go yet," Sophie said. "I'm think Howl will arrive soon,"

"No," Miss Susan said shaking her head. "It's not that. I've got a day off, and I'm quite happy to wait. I thought I'd go and explore outside. It's rather stuffy in here with fire burning. Besides, I have some rather urgent work to attend to, and I like to get it done sooner rather than later,"

This seemed to Sophie the prefect way to get rid of Miss Susan without really getting rid of her. But part of felt she should introduce her to a few of the others. Fanny especially would want her acquaintance. Sophie offered her a bone. "Maybe if I introduced you to a couple of the others,"

Miss Susan's expression darkened and became very disconcerting.

"GO AWAY AND STOP BOTHERING ME." The voice sounded like a crypt door closing from the inside.

In the time afforded by shock radiating from the others Susan clicked her fingers. She didn't need to do this to separate herself from time, it just helped her focus, and, though she would not admit it, it gave off a little bit of drama. During this she let her appearance change to something more appropriate for the situation. Her hair unwound from its bun and took its more natural form, a frizzy mass reminiscent of a dandelion. Her outfit reformed as well. Her shirt faded away leaving her neck exposed, but the dressed remained as modest as possible so the neckline did not at any point plunge. The stitching on the left side of her dress unravelled and her stockings went too, but the shafts of her boots ran up her legs to replace them. Over her shoulders materialised a black hooded cloak, clasped together by a silver brooch with the letter omega.

With the gathered, including the fire demon frozen in this moment of time, and only slightly put off by the wink Miss Smith gave her, Susan turned around and walked through the door, without opening it first.

Momentarily she paused. Instead of returning to _Rivendell_ in Cwtch she found herself in an oddly maintained garden. She looked back at the house she just stepped through. A witch's cottage. Her father explained what a proper one looked like once, in later years she reasoned he must her escorted a witch on during his apprenticeship. She then surveyed the scenery. Once she saw the mountain of Copperhead sitting where it did it came to her. Lancre. She could make it to her destination in good-time.

She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. A whinnying came from over the mountains. A horse galloped through the air. Susan didn't quite understand why her Grandfather gave her a horse of her very own, maybe he didn't want her taking Binky all the time.

Unlike her Grandfather she did have some imagination, unfortunately due to her parents' desire to raise her as sensible as possible, not letting her believe in things like the Soul Cake Duck, the Tooth Fairy and above all her Grandfather, it meant while she did have an imagination she didn't exercise it. A lot of it focused around the colour black and did not in any way centre on daffodils which romantic poets seemed almost religious about. And thus, while she knew better than call a horse which could travel through time and space to the highest peak where any creature may climb and to the deepest depths where anything only barely counting as life might revive, carrying the Ultimate Reality on his rounds, of all things, Binky, Susan nevertheless found it hard to come up with an appropriate name.

Even with the horse's permanent Rose Grey coat, Susan could not call an obviously male horse, Rose or something similar. Or Clover, despite the unusual birthmark on his flack of a clover and a few eight-pointed stars. Instead, by using her classical education, in both the College from Young Ladies and her time in the Frout Academy For Enquiring Young Minds, she went for the tried and tested method of naming a horse after a more well-known one and given the stallion's origin she used a mythological name.

Just because something is mythological, does not mean it is not true. Susan even saw the horse of mythology when she worked on one of her curriculums. It looked suspiciously like the horse her Grandfather gave her, no two horses ever looked so exact. As with Ephebian and Latatian legends there seemed to be multiple origins. From being the son the sea god through events seriously inappropriate for the intended age group, or simply the son of the earth goddess, this horse also seemed to be the steed of many heroes before, or possibly after becoming hers. But Susan felt these legends were incorrect and, if she marked the poets when they first wrote them down she would have failed them, and probably given them detention for thinking such nonsense up.

While she never got a proper answer from her Grandfather, knowing him, and how he seems to know everything and hardly understand anything, Susan felt more than sure her horse is, since it existed in the ever present now, the grandson of Binky. It just felt like something her Grandfather would do, this symmetry of things which while they made sense, just felt slightly wrong.

The stallion approached, and Susan rubbed his head. "Viarion," the horse head bowed, according to the Latatian records Viarion could speak, another thing to be mark down on, lack of proper research. Still, Susan climbed onto her horse and they rode off.

* * *

Back in the house time reasserted itself, or rather it never stopped, just Miss Susan somehow disappeared. Everyone tried to brush of the Voice. Miss Smith did it first. "Well," she said, "I didn't think she had inherited so much,"

Fanny sped to the door and opened it. Then her eyes widened. "Good gracious! Whatever has happened to the shop!"

Sophie explained, as far as she could. But Fanny became so worried Sophie needed to turn the door to the yellow and open it to show the courtyard. Only then would Fanny believe the shop remained and not been mysteriously spirited away. Sophie tried to explain, without really knowing herself, how the door could open on several different places, when a loud meowing came from the table.

Mistress Aching's elderly white cat picked at the bag Fanny left. Fanny herself became very worried. Mistress Aching approached. "What is it You?"

Sal beat her to the bag first and loosened the strings. A murky black worm with two big eyes wiggled out. You pounced on it. Mistress Aching took it off her cat. "A Peeping Bug?" Miss Smith came up beside and she scowled. "That's Madame Suliman's thaumic signature,"

Suddenly all eyes turned to Fanny, who backed into the door. Sophie's sympathies towards Fanny lessened. With the onslaught of accusing stares, Fanny started to stutter an explanation, "Madam, Madame Suliman's holding Mr Smith hostage,"

"She's what?" Miss Smith roared. Fanny nodded. "She said she'd turn him into a monster if I didn't plant the bug," Sophie softened. "That sounds like her. She's trying to find Howl,"

Miss Smith gritted her teeth. "Let me get at her!" she trudged down the steps, glared at Fanny and Sophie, they got out of her way, and Miss Smith opened the door to Market Chipping. Sal followed with the Peeping Bug still in her hand, she shut the door and turned it to Ankh-Morpork. "I'm sure Mr Stibbons and his colleagues and students in the High Energy Magic Building can do something with this," she left quickly.

Fanny started crying. "What I am I going to do?" she wailed. "Madame Suliman is going to do something terrible to us, I just know it!"

Mistress Aching came down to comfort her. "It's all right Mrs Smith. Knowing Esk everything will be fine, she was Granny Weatherwax's first apprentice, and she's an eighth level wizard, that means she's as powerful as Archchancellor Ridcully. You don't have to worry," Fanny nodded. "But I can't go back to the car outside. One of Madame Suliman's servant boys is the driver," Mistress Aching smiled. "They why don't we go through the orange door to Lancre, I'm sure I can convince the King and Queen to allow to stay with them. Esk will catch up, she's hard to find but she's great at finding,"

Fanny nodded. Sophie turned the door the orange setting. Martha and Lettie followed Fanny and Mistress Aching out. Markl and Heen took the opportunity to speak to their respective Hatter sisters. Fanny however took Sophie aside to speak with her privately. Sophie smiled, "I hope you and your new husband will be very happy,"

Fanny smiled. "Thank you, Sophie," she paused and grinned. "I think you're in love too,"

Sophie felt knocked back again. Surely it could not be written on her face. Fanny did not give her time to explain. "You look a little stressed, and your hands feel a little sweaty. You've always been such a robust girl Sophie, so I get the feeling you're falling in love, but you're not quite comfortable with your partner yet,"

Sophie sighed. "He's not even my partner, I don't know if he loves me," Fanny just smiled.

Mistress Aching called. "It going to take some time to reach Lancre Town since we can't carry you all on our broomsticks." Fanny nodded and left with them, walking towards Mad Stoat.

"Do you want to leave too Sophie?" Markl asked beside her. Sophie looked down and asked him what he meant. "That lady said she wants you to live with her now,"

"Yes," Sophie smiled looking away at the retreating figures. "Well, at least she cared enough to visit."

"Don't leave Sophie!" Markl said and hugged her tightly. His faced became embedded in her apron as his muffled voice spilled out. "I love you, you have to stay." Sophie wrapped her arms around him. In her anger last night, she quite forgot about Markl. In less than a month he went from seeing her as a nuisance, to a necessary nuisance, and now seemingly a surrogate mother figure. Her heart warmed to the little boy. "I love you too Markl, I'll stay," he looked up hopefully. "Really?" she nodded. For his sake she'd suffer through. Markl smiled up at her. "Cause we're a family now," she smiled at his innocence. "Yes," she said softly, "we're a family," Markl doubled his hug. "Thank you, Sophie," she just held him tight.

She hoped things would improve, the international alliance could quickly bring this war to an end. She did not want such a sweet boy to be ruined by the monster of this war.

* * *

 **This is an exaggerated version of the book family reunion with film elements added in.**

 **Eskarina Smith. Good grief I wish we knew more about her. As for here appearance being both young and old, well, I think some details from the beginning of** ** _Equal Rites_** **can explain that. As for having two sons, when Fanny says she married a Mr Smith, well, I just know I need to have Esk cameo. I didn't intend the Mr Smith to be Esk's son as I developed a character for the canonical son as mentioned and seen in the later Tiffany Aching books, it's just my method of sorting out the small details lead me to that. So, I decided to make a small joke out of it. None of the strange fantasy reasons that could have happened, just a simple explanation.**

 **For Susan's appearance as Death's wild card I used Paul Kirby's illustration of Discworld Family Values. Although with that said, I never imagined Mort would have a beard**

 **I really with would allow Small Caps to work.**

 **So, I gave Susan her own horse, and Binky's grandson. So, what? Viarion is a joke on Arion.**

 **Like a lot of people, I really felt annoyed Sophie didn't know a thing about the bug.**

 **The ending line of this chapter '…the monster of this war…" is why I decided to include the war subplot.**

 **An interesting thing to note is that in the film there is no character which can truly be called the villain. The Witch of the Waste starts out as such, as an Ursula (Disney's** ** _The Little Mermaid_** **) like character at the start and through to the middle of the film, and is quite enjoyable, before her magic is removed by Madame Suliman, and become a kindly, fun loving and rather suave (in a** ** _Carry On_** **style), and harmless old woman to build sympathy in the audience for Howl and his predicament. Madame Suliman is the closest, but because of her undefined motivation, as indeed at the end when she calls the war pointless even though she escalates matters of the war, its borderline, especially since TV Tropes says Suliman is a 'Well-Intentioned Extremist'.**

 **No, the true villain of the film is the war itself.**

 **That revelation has made me appreciate the film a lot more. I hope I done the same for some of you.**

 **Until next time.**


	24. Chapter 24

As evening rolled in Sophie found the Witch with a cigar. An odd one too. She remembered the smell of the cigars smoked by Commander Vimes and Lord King. The one Miss Throckmorton currently indulged on, smelt more exotic, a little stuffier as well as the room started to fill with string of purplish-pink smoke.

Wilbert and Sal returned from disposing of both of Madame Suliman's creatures. Wilbert also explained about the concept of a Shikigami and, tastefully how he disabled the one who drove Fanny to the shop, while in the middle of a refugee migration. He also mentioned he stored the steam car in a safe place. Howl would need something a little more up to date to modify with the special boiler back in Cwtch.

The engaged couple seemed quite all right compared to twenty-four hours ago. Perhaps Wilbert merely needed to get his words out, get his feelings off his chest. His words still stung her. What could he mean? What could she be doing to keep herself an old woman? And why on the Disc did Howl value her? All his action seemed far more than just thanks for being such a good cleaning lady, but she raked her brain trying to think of a different reason. Maybe he did just want to thank her and did not do measures by halves, he did often make quite a show of everything he did.

To keep her mind off such things for a moment she checked on the Stick. Her cane kept quiet for most of a day. But she could tell from the way the paint and varnish stained and discoloured he, or it, looked worried as it, he, whatever, looked at Calcifer. The fire demon remained hidden in the logs, long after the guests left. Given Esty's words the other night she understood Calcifer's importance, having him at full strength would help, now with the distinct possibility Madame Suliman knew their location.

Sophie took the bellows and pumped air into the grate. Try as she might, Calcifer remained low.

Markl and the Witch discussed a recent battle. "But the newspapers said we won," Markl said. Miss Throckmorton paused with the cigar halfway to her mouth. "Only idiots believe what they read in the paper,"

Wilbert nodded turning a page in the evening edition of the _Ankh-Morpork Times_. "Even Lord de Worde has come to know the truth can hurt. In any case, he and his war reporters are a bit tight lipped on the matter,"

Sophie spoke her mind. "It's so strange," she peered between the logs. "I can't get Calcifer going," she glanced back at the Witch. "Do you have to keep smoking that? It smells terrible." Miss Throckmorton blew a smoke ring and smiled slyly. "Don't deny an old witch her pleasures young lady," Wilbert gave a handkerchief to Markl. "Think about young Markl. You don't want him suffering from passive smoking at his age? Commander Vimes as much a chain-smoker as he is, never smoked in direct presence of Young Sam, for that he took up snuff," he gave a cough and glared at the Witch before standing up. "I think I'll join Sal upstairs,"

As Wilber shut the door to the next floor, Sophie called to Markl, "Markl would you crack a window please?" the boy smiled and hummed his acknowledgement, got down from his chair and scurried to the back window. The Witch deflated with her next exhalation of smoke. As she recovered she gave her advice, "I wouldn't open that window it I were you, dear," as Markl drew back the curtain, Esty tapped the ash off the end and continued, "Calcifer's too weak right now to protect this place. Suliman's henchmen could get in,"

Markl pulled the window back. Sophie gasped. The Witch did have a good point. "Markl," she trudged over.

The ground shook. Explosions bashed the sound barrier. Lights flickered. Ornamental plates crashed. Sophie stumbled to the window. Pulled Markl aside. Slammed the window shut. A fireball arose from the streets. So, Sophie thought. This is the reason why everyone left town. Why weren't we told about the air raid?

She rushed to the door and opened it. Looking up from the courtyard, she saw the tail of an aircraft. Markl followed her. She looked down at him sternly. "Markl get back inside," she started running to the back entrance. "I'm going to check on the shop!" she rushed straight through with a sudden burst of energy. Sophie needed to be strong-minded for Markl, and for Esty, and she wanted Howl to come back to something. She side stepped the counter and stopped at the shop front. A fire raged on all floors of a building down the street. Some of the remaining townsfolks chaotically tried to form a too small bucket chain. A fire engine siren and bell came nearer.

Her witch's senses, a sixth sense as it were, alerted Sophie to something behind her. She looked back. Several figures in Royal Ingary Air Service uniforms slowly approached. Their bodies bulged and broke through the buttons and seems. Jagged teethed mouths opened. Sophie steeled herself. Madame Suliman's henchmen. Did the Royal Sorceress stage this bombing raid as a distraction while her magical minions tried to find Howl? She wouldn't put it past her. More approached from the other end of the street. Sophie backed up to the doors, but she needed her say. Madame Suliman would no doubt by listening in, so she wanted her to hear. "There are bombs falling on us. Why can't you put out some fires instead?"

The creature continued their stacking approach. She belted for the door. Slammed it shut and in the onslaught of poundings, screwed the lock tight. "I hope that keeps them out for as long as we need," even still, tendrils of sludge leaked out from the gaps. Unsure of the door's strength despite her desperate words, and hopefully some form of spell on them.

Sophie rushed back through the shop, zigzagged the counter, knocking flowers over in her rush. She ran into the courtyard as she heard the doors burst open. Damn it! Her second thoughts shouted. How come my magic is so selective! A rush of air caught her attention. She looked up and gasped. An aircraft appeared overhead fully laden with bombs. They started fulling. A carpet bombing perhaps? One dropped right down at them. Sophie backed up to the wall.

A giant raven like creature swooped in. Gilding between the bombs. Arms came out under the wings and grabbed the tails. Sophie shouted, "Howl! No!"

Explosions rocked the street. The shockwave launched Sophie into the wall. Stone and wooden flew around her. Some pebbles dashed at her. She heard a building collapse. The noise settled. Sophie assessed herself. Then she glanced backward. She gasped. Howl held onto the unexploded bomb. His feathers stuck out ruffled and askew. He greatly resembled an angel. "Howl!" she called in reassurance and ran to him. Sophie stumbled with the broken ground. She jumped up and hugged his neck tightly. He returned the hug. "I'm sorry, Sophie," his voice sounded husk and broken, just as ragged as his feathers. "I should have gotten here sooner,"

Sophie looked up at his face. Still the pretty young man. He could have come sooner, over a week sooner. But he came at last, right when he really needed to be here. "You're alive!" she buried herself in his soft chest. "Oh, thank goodness,"

A series of growls and slurping noises came from the back entrance of the shop. Howl turned her slightly, still holding her tight to him and they walked to the house. The door opened for Howl and he flew in. The growls and the sludgy sounds became overcome by a strong gush of winds, and a couple of fireballs.

Within the darkened room, Wilbert and Sal stood determined standing before the grate. Howl fluttered himself and Sophie over the Vice-Chancellor and the Research Witch. Markl looked up at them. "Master Howl," he rushed up as he dropped her gently to the floor, "Sophie. You're okay," he hugged Sophie. Wilbert glanced back over his shoulder. "You definitely took your time Howl," Howl did not answer. Instead he leaned down over the smoking grate. A clawed hand came over the logs. "Calcifer," Howl called. His raised his hand and spoke, "You hang in there now!"

The fire demon arose from the logs at last and shook his head dizzily. Howl turned to the Witch still smoking the cigar. "Tell me," he asked leaning over her, "Was that cigar a gift from Madame Suliman, by any chance?" the Witch exhaled like a balloon covering Howl in purplish-pink smoke. Wilbert looked back again. "I think our mutual friend," he said with layered cynicism, "had a few added tricks beyond that failed plant this afternoon,"

Howl appeared to ignore his partner in ownership and continued addressing the Witch. Miss Throckmorton smiled her ever present slyly grin. "Why," she mused with sarcasm. "If it isn't Howl. I think you and I need to have a nice long heart to heart chat," Sophie bit back her distain. Heart to heart, she thought. She must know full well Howl hasn't got his heart, she just wants nothing but to steal it. Sophie did not voice her thought especially when Howl smoothly replied, "There's nothing I'd like then that," he held out his hand. "But right now, there's a war going on," the Witch took one more drag of the cigar, once more collapse as her smoky breath escaped her. She then snuffed the finished cigar into Howl's open hand. Spark flew as she spoke, "How unlike you Howl. Not running away anymore," Sophie sensed some approval in the Witch's voice.

Howl shut his talons and bowed. "Until later then," he turned and grabbed Sophie shoulders directly. "Stay here," he said. "Calcifer will protect you from the henchmen. I'll stand guard out front," as walked passed Sophie and towards the door. Sophie did not know how to react to this, like the Witch said, so very unlike him. "No wait, Howl," she rushed up and hugged him from behind. "Don't go out there, it too dangerous!"

"Another wave's coming," Howl explained turning back at her. "And Calcifer's took weak the stop the bombs," Sophie wonder not have this. "Let's run!" she suggested whole-heartily. She shook her head pleading, "Don't fight them, Howl,"

"Sorry," Howl replied. "I had enough of running away, Sophie," she could not believe him, she loosened her grip. Then Howl delivered quite the message, "And now I've got something I want to protect," he paused and smiled softly. "It's you," Sophie gave a little squeak as she froze. But before Howl could use this opportunity to leave she held him tighter and gave him an expression of hurt confusion. "But why me, Howl? I'm the eldest of my siblings," she shrieked. "I'm a failure!"

"Codswallop!" Sal shouted from behind her. Sophie glanced back. Sal stood with her hair pulled back and her hands on her hips. Her miscoloured eyes drilling a stare almost as hard as Miss Susan's. Wilbert nodded beside her.

Howl turned to look at her directly. "Sal's correct Sophie. Narrative Causality does shape people, but we make our own stories as well,"

Wilbert burst into a lecture. "If everyone did what everyone else expected of them then this would be quite the boring world, turtle or not. There are so many way people handle the narratives giving to them. You Sophie decided you would play the Youngest Child Wins cliché so straight you've become an exaggeration of it, and I don't mean as a parody. But the justification for it is non-existent, perhaps indeed backwards. Sal told me out of you and your sisters you're the most powerful magic wise, and that Martha wishes the simple life you resigned yourself too in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Lettie and Martha have actively averted their expected Narratives. But you didn't Sophie. It's no wonder that spell has such a tight grip on you if you have such a tight grip to such outdated thinking,"

Sophie just blinked. She really did have a choice? I suppose I always did. I choose to be a quiet resigned girl in the hat shop. But I don't know what else I can do. She looked to Wilbert. "You mean people can control Narrative Causality?"

Wilbert stiffened. "The laws of Narrative Causality can be bent and in the rare occasions, like when Nobby dressed up as Nautch Girl in Klatch, not break them, more negate them since they gave up on the 'Any homely featured man who for whatever reason has to disguise himself as a woman will inevitably become attractive to some otherwise perfectly sane men, and hilarity ensues' cliché when faced with Corporal Nobbs," everyone seemingly ground to a halt trying to stop their minds from reaching certain mental images.

Wilbert rubbed his face and recovered first. "The one things you can't do with the laws of Narrative Causality is control them as if you are the law. That's what Lily tried to do,"

Howl raised an eyebrow. "You've never gone into what your cousin did," Wilbert fumed for a moment and then snapped back, "This isn't really the time for that,"

"No," Howl conceded. "It isn't," in a flurry of flying feathers, Howl swooped out of Sophie's grip. The door opened and quickly shut behind him. Sophie rushed down the stairs. "Come back!" she called, and she opened the door. Running out into the courtyard she looked up. A blue glow outlined the avian figure of Howl as he disappeared into the night. Her sixth sense picked up on the growls and sloshing in front of her. To her surprise, but paradoxically to her expectation the blob men of Madame Suliman started animating themselves again. Within Sophie a new set of thoughts emerged as she glared annoyed at them. I have a choice? Very well then. She huffed and ran back inside. She took the Stick from the fireside and returned to the door as the buffeting started. Sophie pressed herself against it and held onto the doorknob.

I just can't wait around. Howl needs me. She turned the knob to green. The buffeting stopped. Gingerly, Sophie pulled the door ajar and looked out. Rain poured over the Waste. Realising the safety of the Waste compared to Market Chipping she ran out to the cliff edge. A burning red glow came from the clouds. So, she thought. The Castle stayed within sight of the town. Down in the valley and in between the gaps in the clouds Sophie saw the burning town. "There's where we are at the shop," she saw a single speak flying through the air. A line of explosion followed it on the ground. Sophie leaned out further to get a closer look. Her eyes widened. "Looks like Howl's in trouble,"

A series of smaller dots surrounded the aircraft. More of Madame Suliman's henchmen no doubt, she thought. An explosion burst from the bowels of the ship. She gasped. A black monstrous figure arose from the fiery hull roaring from the back of the throat. It, no he, bit into one of the henchmen as they began to swarm around him. "Howl! Look out!" Sophie called. The place dived in a banshee scream buzz. Closer clouds covered the burning comet.

BOOM! Red light flashed across the sheet of water vapour.

"What's going on?" Markl shouted from behind. A wet hopping also joined. Markl suddenly changed attentions as he commented. "Turnip!" Sophie turned back to the Castle. Heen also stood with Markl. He carried both the harp and the human skull and eye amazed at Turnip-Head. An idea crossed Sophie's mind and she ran back inside she glanced at the boy as she did so. "Markl I need your help,"

Sophie gathered Wilbert and Sal and explained the idea while getting a few things. Calcifer asked, "Are you crazy?" he slammed another log onto the grate. "I can't move the portals without Howl's help," Wilbert nodded putting his tartan cloak on and grabbed his staff. "And it took me weeks of preparation to make the initial move of getting the house from the Isle of Fog to Number Seven,"

Sophie rushed down and tied a cloth as a makeshift shawl around Esty. "You have to try. If we don't break away Howl will keep protecting the hat shop," she then mattered under her breath, "I preferred him as a coward," she looked down at Esty. "Okay? We have to go now," Esty pulled herself up and seemingly re-entered her own little world once more. "Are we going for a stroll?" Calcifer still objected. "We can't do that! It'll make us too vulnerable!" As Sophie helped Esty along the room she snapped back at Calcifer. "We already are! And if we don't move quick Howl doesn't have a chance." she glanced to the stairs. "Are you coming Sal?"

"Coming!" Sal called and flung the door at the top open. Sal came down jumping two step at a time. She wore her witch cloak, held Wilbert's Thunderstroke broomstick. But she also wore a new addition. A proper black and pointy witch's hat. Sophie blinked. "Why have you never worn it before?" Sal shrugged. "I don't like wearing it all the time. I've got more than enough for people to tell I'm a witch. I only wear my hat when it rains," Sophie then narrowed her eyes. "Why aren't you bringing your broomstick?"

"I can always make another, Wilbert's is unique," she passed the Thunderstroke to Wilbert and to couple both left the house via the still open Castle door. Markl came rushing inside. "Sophie!" he yelled as Heen and Turnip-Head leaned in looking worried. "They're about to bomb the hat shop!"

"Quick," Sophie replied. "Help her get outside, okay?" Markl nodded. "Right," he scurried up and took Esty's hand. Sophie meanwhile quickly grabbed the shovel from the fireplace tools. She held it in front of Calcifer. "You're coming with us, hop on,"

"I can't," Howl said worried. He flickered violently. "It's impossible. No one but Howl can take me out of this hearth." Sophie felt a stir within her and jumped onto it. "There's no time to lose, Calcifer. We have to try something," she jammed the shovel into the grate. Calcifer wailed and flared frightened. "No! Don't do this! Help, help, help, help! Crazy lady with a shovel!" Calcifer's words reminded her very much of her first day as cleaning lady. I guess somethings just never change, she muttered in her mind. She trudged to the steps. Markl still slowly helped Esty out. Why didn't Wilbert and Sal help? Calcifer broke through her minor thought, "If you take me out there," he said, "the Castle could collapse!"

"Good," Sophie snapped back. She never did like the eyesore. She waited for Markl and Esty to clear the doorway. The boy quickly ran back. "We're ready," he declared. Sophie started to descend. "Okay. Stand back," she ordered. As she crabbed down gently as so not disturb him too much, Calcifer glanced back at her. "Make sure I go out last, Sophie," he looked back at the door. "I don't know what's going to happen. But I'm sure it won't be good," he gulped. Sophie reached the bottom. Carefully turned herself around to face the way in. And she slowly back out, amid Calcifer's worried noises. She stepped out the door. Calcifer came with.

The inside stretched away. Twisted slightly. A loud groaning creak echoed. The bottom of the stairs snapped off from the doorway. The inside disappeared into a vanishing point. In its place, grey timber and stone broke apart. The Castle buckled in on itself. Parts fell off in rapid succession. Sophie and the others backed up quickly. When she first saw the Castle up front she marvelled not at its grander, or lack of it, but how it did not fall apart. She thought, maybe it entered the concept of balance from the opposite direction. Or maybe just so broken gravity left it alone out of sympathy. She later learned it held itself together by magic, presumably Calcifer's. So, with him forced out of it, gravity came back with a vengeance and the equilibrium of the world become determined to restore its reputation. Somewhere in Enlightenment Country, the Abbot of the Balancing Monks made a note of this.

As the Castle settled, in accordance with ancient Narrative convention one last piece, in this case a large pipe, crashed beside the heroine and her retinue, followed swiftly by some minor pieces of rubble to serves as echo to the drama. In most cases this specific convention is served by a single wheel, often flaming, rolling away from the scene of a vehicular accident.

Calcifer spoke his mind, "I told you it would collapse!" then he realised something. "Rain!" as the fire demon attempted to shield himself, Wilbert added on, "When I said you were liable to bring the Castle down, Sophie, I was speaking metaphorically," he shook his head. "I didn't mean it to be foreshadowing!"

Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned. Immediately they backed up. The gremlins named Thermidor fluttered with his arms crossed. Behind him a, quite literal, flight of gremlins, females, known as Splits included, lined up behind him. Thermidor sniffed. "We gave you direct signal saying we'd be back to snowdrop this duff shed went cocked hat," he glanced towards the flaming town and to fighting Howl. "But in this current flap, I think I'm willing to suspend the WDRs for moment,"

Wilbert sighed. "If you have any complaints," he said. "You'll need to lodge them with Howl," he pointed with his staff. "However, he's currently fight for his life,"

"And," Thermidor added. "That town is catching quite a packet," he turned around to address the other gremlins. "We'll sort out what's for the mishcrit and what goes in File Thirteen later. Right now, I want half of you to act as string vests and bodge tap anyone down in the town. And the other half with me giving the snappers up there a real dogfight," the other gremlins saluted. They split into different groups. Most of the Splits went down towards Market Chipping. The rest flew towards a bomber plane appearing from the clouds. Markl observed. "That ship is headed for town."

Sophie started walking toward the heap formerly called Howl's Moving Castle. "Markl," she said. "Look after her, okay? Sal, Wilbert, I might need your help. Turnip-Head help us find a way back in," the scarecrow, the Research Witch and the Vice-Chancellor followed the women carrying the fire demon. In some universes this would probably lead into a joke of some kind. Instead, Sophie lead the trio behind into the debris. Another bomber joined the fight. But apparently so did more gremlins. Sophie clambered into a crumpled square hole on the side of the Castle's frog face, the largest part of the Castle to survive. "Markl," she called down. "Here's a way in," Wilbert climbing in and help Sal up. Heen scrambled up as well.

A third bomber flew overhead.

Sophie explored first. Calcifer's light, followed by Sal holding a fireball and Wilbert lighting the knob on the end of his staff, illuminated the remains of Castle interior. It resembled a heavily run-down version of the living room. Perhaps whatever Howl originally used as the inside before amalgamating itself with Wilbert's house from Fourecks. The roof leaked causing Calcifer to mumble and complain. Sophie saw the bare brick hearth and the line in the plaster where the chimney used to be. "Hold on for a second," Sophie said softly as she put Calcifer on the bricks, next to an empty beer bottle. She rushed over to the other end of the room as Calcifer complained, she did not want to listen. This needed to be done. Sophie felt determined to do it.

She picked up stray pieces of wood, including pulling out a plank step from the remains of the stairs. As she turned back to Calcifer she heard the stairs collapse further. It's not as if anyone's going to want to go upstairs, she reasoned. Indeed, I'm quite sure the upstairs has now fallen to the downstairs. She placed the gathered plank and place them around and over Calcifer. She knew he would find around them. Heen offered a small stick before getting out of the way as Sophie slammed a stool down before the hearth. "Markl! Hurry," she ordered. "Get inside,"

Sal helped Markl in as the boy helped Esty in. Wilbert cast spells to stop areas of the Castle interior from falling further and created a small shield to act as an umbrella from Calcifer. Markl looked about. "The Castle's a wreck,"

"Yes, Markl," Wilbert said as he carefully pencilled a couple of symbols into the wall. "I do believe we have established that," Calcifer, halfway through eating the stick said, "Told you we should have stayed put. Howl and I could have handled it." Wilbert finished his latest symbol and glanced at him. "While I disapprove of our current situation as much as you Calcifer, I'm also sceptical you could have protected the shop from bombs at the same time as Howl fight off swarms of Madame Suliman's henchmen. After all, I have vague memories of the last days of dead men's pointy shoes. The senior wizards protected themselves with a yards-worth of protection spell against magical attacks, and yet never found a conclusive way to stop a knife in the back, well," he grinned to himself. "Apart from Great-uncle Galder," he then looked about. "Need a hand with that Sophie?"

Sophie currently approached him hefting a long beam and shook her head.

Markl, still escorting Esty over to the hearth looked up confused. "Dead men's pointy shoes?" Wilbert sighed and smiled at Markl. "Well since you are going to enter into wizardry you might as well know just encase it returns in your time,"

Unseen University has stood for two-thousand years. Its thick stone walls are meant to keep those unschooled in magic outside, baring the porters, cleaning and kitchen staff, those men in the very underground of the building who make the candle dribble just right for use in magical studies, Mr Modo the gardener, and of course the Patrician and any of his honoured guest whenever they wish to have Unseen University as a host, and keep those who know and can utilise magic inside, expect when students made handholds in said walls to go drinking, and indeed continued to as staff member, the former Dean, Henry Caius would often not be seen trying to climb over the walls, and students would not take bets and time how long he would take.

But getting back to Unseen University, its security and big dinner bestowed long life to those of its academic profession. Less than fifty years ago at UU the Eight Orders of Wizardry reigned over the senior faculty. Membership of the orders, positions in the faculty and standings in the eight ranks of wizardry were held for life. Thus, promotion went at a slow pace. It became accepted, indeed, traditional for younger wizards to seek advancement via dead men's pointy shoes, having previously emptied them of their occupants. As time went on being an eighth rank wizard did not mean being the most powerful in magic, more about having power of survival, which in the highly competitive world of magic, used to mean the same thing. During those days behind every wizard of the eighth rank stood eight seventh rank wizards trying to bump him off. An ancient proverb summed it up: when a wizard is tired of looking for broken glass in his dinner, his is tired of life.

Markl felt very uncomfortable. "Do wizards still do that?"

"Good grief no," Wilbert said shocked. "Archchancellor Ridcully put a stop to it, indeed he became Archchancellor as a break from the practise,"

In 1974 UC a young boy named Coin arrived. A Sourcerer. A natural born wizard is the eighth son of an eight son, Wilbert understood this, being one himself, and Eskarina Smith is a natural born female wizard, the eighth child of an eighth son. But wizards are supposed to be celibate. The main reason is to stop any natural born wizard from having an eighth son. A wizard times a wizard. Coin being the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son, produced his own inexhaustible magic, instead of recycling the already, if not exhausted, very tired background magic field of the Disc. A child, but also a powerful source of magic, hence the term Sourcerer.

Coin, under the, very, strict orders of his vengeful father, started a massive magical war almost akin to the ancient Mage Wars. The result meant the seriously depletion of the ranks of wizardry and the original Eight Orders. Dead men's pointy shoes continued at an alarming rate however, in the eleven years following the Sourcerer War several Archchancellors came and went, in some cases not long enough for anyone to be able to complete the official painting to be hung in the Great Hall. Just for once, the senior wizards agreed the University needed a period of stability, so they could get on with their scheming and intriguing in peace and quiet for a few months. A search of the records turned up Ridcully the Brown who, after becoming a seventh rank wizard at the incredibly young age of twenty-seven, quit the University to look after his family's estates deep in the country of Lancre.

They assumed Ridcully matched the stereotypical idea of a Brown Wizard. However, the Brown in this instance referred to his sporting achievements in the University's rowing team, not wearing brown and speaking to birds. They got someone who did speak to birds. In fact, he shouted at birds, normally shouting "Winged you, yer bastard!" before proceeding to shoot them and anything else he could mount on the wall. He talks at a consistent shout and has about as much respect for mother nature as he does for the members of the faculty, which is not a lot. At least for the wizards at Unseen University the tradition of dead men's pointy shoes has come to a complete stop with Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully, he finally put a halt to the traditional method of promotion simply by being indestructible. This is related to his habit of springing up behind would-be assassins, preferably with a crossbow, shouting at them and banging their head repeatedly into doors.

This stop of the tradition became an official ban by Ponder Stibbons, in his capacity as Master of Traditions and who at the time held twelve positions within the University and thus, he effectively controls, as he is a majority in the college council all by himself.

Wilbert finished. "The trouble with prohibiting something, its a law, and Mister Vimes keeps saying, there will always be those who break the law."

Sophie meanwhile, slammed the beam down, waited until Calcifer recovered and spoke to the fire demon, "We have to tell Howl we're no longer attached to the hat shop now," as Calcifer emerged from the gasp in the wood she ordered him, "Move the Castle and take us to Howl," a drop of rain splashed onto the shield above Calcifer. The fire demon stared frightened and unsure. "What?" he exclaimed. Sophie smiled and encourage with some Headology, "I know you can do it. I've never seen a fire with more spark."

"But there's no chimney here, and it keeps dripping, and the woods all damp!" Sophie leaned in. "They say that the best blaze brightest when circumstances are at their worst,"

"Yeah," Calcifer mumbled. "But no one really believes that. Come on, least be honest," as Markl help Esty down onto the stool the former witch commented from within her abstract world, "Oh, what a pretty fire," Wilbert rolled his eyes and shook his head grinning. "Like the old Bursar," he muttered. Calcifer gave in. "All right," he looked to Sophie. "I need something of yours," her eyebrows twitch down slightly and she gave a little frown. "Why's that?" she asked. Calcifer replied, "I can't do it by myself. How about your eyes?" Sophie mouth opened. "Huh?" then her third thought gave a theory and a suggestion. Her hand took her ponytail. "How about this?" Calcifer's fiery arms reached out and grabbed the silvery grey locks. One of this hand sliced through the braid near the top ribbon and cut clean through. The shock made Sophie back up a little. Calcifer chewed down on the strands. Once eaten Calcifer turned a dark blue.

Most everyone leaned in with curiosity. Sophie failed to notice her remaining ribbon untie itself, freeing her hair to just above shoulder length. Sal meanwhile backed up to the wall expectantly. Calcifer burst into deep red. Smoke flew. Flames filled the entire brick hearth. Calcifer rose to the ceiling up the line of the chimney and pushed the wooden beams up. The draft and rumbling of now active Castle interior shook the room. Everyone, bar Sal who watched with fear, and Wilbert who glanced with annoyance as his spells got burnt away, watched with awe. They felt the room rise. Heard the clattering of yet more of the Castle exterior collapsing. A part of the floor behind Sophie broke away. The place shook violently, and the ground started rolling under them. Turnip-Head bounced speedily under them with just enough headroom.

Sophie looked back smiling widely. "Thanks, Calcifer. You're fantastic!" the fire demon's mouth did not move quite correctly or in sync, but his voice echoed from deep within the flames. "Imagine what I could have done with your eyes, or your heart!" Sophie heard Esty say something, but Sophie ignored it. What Calcifer said confirmed her suspicions about the contract between Howl and the fire demon, quite why they made it she did not know, but she understood enough.

The Castle crested a crag giving Sophie a clear view, until they started descending. She needed to poke her head out from under the floor and looked up into the sky. Within the dog fight between bombers, gremlins and magical creatures Sophie spied a ring on Madame Suliman's henchmen circling something in the middle. "I can see Howl down there," Sophie called the others. The henchmen started spiralling in towards him. "Looks like he's trapped," a lightning bolt staked through the centre of the spiral. Sophie looked back to Calcifer. "Calcifer hurry!" she then noticed something and once more inhaled sharply.

Calcifer screamed as the Witch of the Waste reached into the pile of wood and grabbed the shovel. She pulled it. The flame disappeared. Part of the ceiling above the hearth collapsed. Sophie turned around and shouted desperately, "Put him back!" the Witch did not listen. Instead she reached for Calcifer on the shovel. Sophie grabbed her. "Let go!" the Witch let the shovel go and held the object within the fire demon with awe and relief. "Howl's heart it's mine!" she held it tight and Calcifer reacted to it harshly. The Castle started jerking back and forth, as if trying to make the Witch let go of the fire demon. The spidery chicken legs lost their foot and the Castle fell down the steep side of the high hills. The Witch fell from Sophie's grip and crashed into a beam Calcifer engulfed her.

Wilbert, in the middle of hugging Sal tightly, as far away from Calcifer as possible, reached into his pocket and pulled out a cube shaped object with a dial on one side. His eyes widened, and his pupils shrunk at whatever it said.

Calcifer's flames clawed into the Witch. She shook and twitched. Her skin, hair and clothing disappeared. Sophie watched in horror as one of the Witch's blob men took the place of Esty. This must be why Sal, Calcifer and Wilbert were so resistant to her, it, Sophie thought. Why did I let my sympathies get the better of myself? I should have examined her, it, as a witch when I had the chance. She knew she could not let this blob man get away with Calcifer. The Stick agreed with her and started bashing the blob man. "Let go of my friend!" it shouted. "No!" the Witch's voice shouted from somewhere, her voice echoing out from the blob man. "It's mine! It's mine!" the blob man reached for the Stick and the fires ran up it. The Stick burst into ash.

Sophie went stiff for a moment. I feel as though you've just killed an old friend. And compared to the other friendships Sophie could remember, out of them all the Stick seemed the longest, even if it lasted less than a fortnight. Holding back tears of angry she reached for the nearest thing available. A bucket of water. She screamed it the blob man. "Let Calcifer go you monster!" she flung the bucket. The water spilled all over the blob man. Calcifer regressed to a light blue flame within it clutches. Sophie then remembered Calcifer's words. Her hasty decision slammed back at her. Then it slammed though the Castle. The half Sophie, Sal and Wilbert stood on broke away. Markl reached out. "Sophie!"

Heen got knocked onto their side by rubble, leaving the human skull and the harp on the still moving half. He turned into a dog once more and slammed into Sophie as the breakaway half plunged into a ravine. The half with Markl, Calcifer and the blob man bounded away into the distance with Turnip-Head hopping after it.

As they fell the half-Castle hit a snag of rock and broke up even further.

"Sophie!" Sal called. She reached into her pockets before throwing something to her with a cry of, "Catch!"

Sophie, tumbling with Heen, managed to wrap her fingers around the object. She looked at it closely. A small hourglass, gold, not much bigger than a watch. The bottom seemed sanded down at the atomic level and then some newer pieces morphed into place. What it original said could no longer be read, instead engraved words displayed the name of _Sal Octavia Lifton._ Sophie looked back to Sal as the couple disappeared into the gorge, Wilbert readying his broomstick. Sal shouted, "Just keeping thinking of Howl, it'll keep him alive!" then they disappeared.

As everything came crashing down around her, Sophie could only think one thing, I've ruined everything. Then something knocked her out.

* * *

 **Wilbert's rant with the various from of playing with tropes was something I came up with just out of the blue. I kind of wish I could we made it with all the ways of playing with, but this version just seemed to flow naturally.**

 **I did wonder about including Wilbert explaining what Lily Weatherwax did, but I couldn't find a place where it would fit.**

 **I decided to give the former Dean the surname Caius. I think I had a specific reason, but I can't recall what.**

 **Yes, it was my plan for the start to have the old witch be one of her henchmen the whole time. That was basically the plot element which made me want to write this.**

 **And the thing Sal threw to Sophie, its one of those lose ends from _Reaper Man_ I wanted to tie up.**

 **Were getting near the end. I hope you like the next chapter. Bye for now.**


	25. Chapter 25

Sophie stirred. Something rested on her back. She knelt on a rocky ground. As she sat up, her memories returned to her. Glancing to her hand, she still held the thing Sal gave her. But why? What did she mean? Sophie pocketed the hourglass. How can I possible fix this? Howl just wanted to protect me, and what do I do? She couldn't bring herself to think what happened to Howl, but she felt she knew. Her eyes started welling up.

A series of quiet whimpers came from her left. She slowly glanced down. Heen, as the Old Chalk Sheepdog looked at her worried. Her eyes flooded further and calmly as possible she asked, rhetorically of course, "Heen, what I have done?" He tears overflowed down her face. "I poured water on Calcifer," she turned away and the dreaded thought left her subconscious mind, through her brain and out with her voice, "What if I killed Howl too?" she buried her head into her hands. She felt even more worse than when she tried to leave the Castle when Howl went all slimy.

Heen started barking. Then he pawed at her leg. Sophie glanced at him through her fingers. Then she noticed it. The ring Howl gave her when she went to see Madame Suliman, the jewel glowed blue, then same as Calcifer after she dumped the water on him. The metal also vibrated. She examined it closer. "It's moving! Is Howl still alive?" she asked the ring, "Can you lead me to him?" the ring reacted, the light blue magic jumped out like a fountain's water spout. The magic then returned to ring and shot a beam out. She looked up to see where it went. In this case pointing straight towards a piece of metal. Propped up against the cliff face. Curiosity overtook her. She stood up and followed the light. Something sat behind the metal, part of the frog façade she guessed. It left just enough room to for her to squeeze inside. She pushed and pushed and pushed. The panel fell forward. Heen got out of the way.

Sophie could now clearly what hid behind the metal. "The front door," the ring flared again pointing at the door. Sophie pulled at the handle. The blackness looked back at her. It did not seem like inch thick nothingness now. More an abyss. Just to be sure, she raised the ring. The light shot out, guiding her into it, the light stopped and spread along it. Sophie felt the blackness. Just as before. Could Howl have gone back to Llamedos? Well, only one way to find out. She plucked up courage and stepped through. She continued through the blackness, not straight to Llamedos then. The silence of the nothingness somehow both calmed and unnerved her.

As she walked, slowly and unsteadily, a scene faded into existence front of her. A square room. A few bits of furniture and a small cooking range. Her boots started making a sound, indicating she stepped into the room. She looked at the papers on the table with the unoccupied chair. The papers greatly resembled those Markl worked on. Confused she looked at the ring. It vibrated but the light did not emit from it, as if it lost its sense of direction.

A scratching at the door caught her attention. "Heen?" she whispered. She walked over and put her hand to the door. Pulling it open she gingerly walked out. The night sky took her attention. Dozens of falling stars glided through the sky before falling on the far side of a familiar lake. A steady water on wood beating told her she just walked out of the watermill cottage in Howl's secret garden. Maybe he retreated here? Another star flew passed much closer. Instantly Sophie thought of Madame Suliman's subjugation spell and she winced. Then she saw the ring. A blue glow outlined it, but the metal wore thin, like something invisible nibbled on it.

The star's landing and burst made Sophie look up. The light illuminated a figure walking on the end of the lake. It looked like one of Madame Suliman's pageboys, only dressed in middle-class clothing, and with black hair. Sophie looked closer. She made a guess. "That's Howl?" More stars shore down. The boy looked up. Sure, enough Sophie saw a younger Howl, greatly resembling his niece and nephew. Sophie again thought of the little stars playing Ring a Ring o' Roses. Dreading something bad would happen to she ran as fast as she could. Her boot dug into the mud. She could not help but think of Markl's star chasing in Enlightenment Country only a few weeks ago. And then Howl's comments when Markl talked about it, and then Calcifer's hint about Howl catching a falling star. "I know where I am," she said to Heen, not checking if he followed her. "I'm in Howl's childhood,"

As she ran on the lakeside she wondered how it could have happened. Howl did off-handily mention about going to see his own Naming Rite if he wanted to, maybe this is what he meant. The black door must send Howl where he wants to go, or maybe needs to go, and it allowed Sophie here for a reason. A star lowered itself down to the lake and burst. The little stick figure started running across the water before fading and falling in. Two more burst behind her. The shock nearly made her fall over. As did one landing on the ground directly behind her. The stick figure ran past her making her stop. It continued onto the lake and spluttered into nothing. The glowing little creature faded as it sunk.

Sophie watched the lake. The reflection caught her by surprise. She looked as young as she used to be, and as young as she felt right now. Indeed, she looked a whole lot better with shorter hair than with the pony tail, she looked a lot more confident. She felt her boots stir and started sinking into the mud. Shrieking, she pulled herself out and stumbled backward. Another star shore over as it fell. Howl caught it in a burst of light and fire. Sophie inhaled as she witnessed it. She stood closes enough to she Howl's lips move, but too far to hear the word. But she understood them. Her hand with the ring trembled as she gripped her skirt and apron. Young Howl, to her amazement and disgust, swallowed the star. His hand went to his chest and he lurched in pain. His hand left his chest. A heartbeat pumped through the silence. In his hands he cupped a small fire.

The ring snapped. Reality opened under her. It slowly pulled her into the abyss. She looked back at the boy still reeling. "Howl!" she called. "Calcifer!" Howl turned to look at her with wide eyed confusion as the abyss encroached on them. She continued, "It's me Sophie, I know how to help you now!" Howl suddenly became very scared at what she implied and Calcifer opened his eyes. Sophie knew she could not do anything at present, or in the past, so gave him some hope, "Find me in the future!" Heen dived after her. The abyss closed around them. The world spun as she and Heen fell. She saw the elephants and the turtle, she could feel time swivelling and knot around her. How can I get to Howl? How can he find me now?

Heen barked and started walking. Sophie pulled herself straight and started to follow. As she did so she couldn't help but think. Howl didn't have a heart for, he looked to be about fourteen, so, she did the maths in her head, at least a decade.

Now logically she knew the heart did not regulate the emotion, it's all chemicals in the brain. Although she once read in a modern medical book written by an Igor, and approved by the Lady Sybil Free Hospital, the heart is a hormonal gland, producing Dopamine, about reward and, suppressed her blush, pleasure, Epinephrine or adrenaline, Norepinephrine which helps people cope with certain shocks. And the same book states some recipients of heart transplants have reported changes in their personalities, tastes and desires that seem to mirror the donor's lifestyle. So maybe the being without his heart for his formative years did affect Howl. Maybe since Calcifer safeguarded Howl's heart he affected Howl's emotions, accidentality of course. Calcifer liked her, faults and all, maybe Howl fell in love with her over the last month.

Sophie realised, I shouldn't have said 'It's me Sophie,' Howl and Calcifer wouldn't have known me back then. The next time we would have met was on May Day, and Howl's first word to her came back. There you are sweetheart. Sorry I'm late. I've been looking everywhere for you.

It all made sense now. Why he chased after girls. Why he said those word. Only then she'd not been quite the girl he'd been looking for. But now, she became her. The girl, the woman, Howl needed and wanted. And as Wilbert said, with all the things he did to show how much he valued her, the woman he possibly loved. Why did she not see it until now? She felt tears well up again, no sure why, she held her hands to her face.

Heen barked. "I'm sorry Heen," she said, "I'm trying to hurry. I just can't seem to stop crying," she felt a weight come off her, or more exactly she felt the absence of a weight, one she did know existed until it went away. The door appeared before her. She stepped through after Heen, the gravity of the Disc settled as she did her best not to stumble. She stopped as she realised what sat before her. A huge mass of feathers slowly breathing. Sophie plucked up courage and walked forward, she never feared Howl as a monster, now with what she suspected, she would never dream of it. She came up close and asked, "Howl?" she reached through the feather and pulled them aside. Howl face appeared from underneath. He looked cold with the thousand-yard stare through red-rimmed eyes. But still his face, he held on to at least one part of his humanity. He came straight here to find her, no lengthy session doing himself up, he came straight here, dishevelled from his fight, and waited for her. Calcifer and Markl's words came back to her. He really did love her. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Did I come too late? I didn't mean to make you wait this long," she leaned in. Closed her eyes. She gave him a small kiss on the cheek. As she pulled back she saw his static face stir. Sophie smiled. "I need you to take me to Calcifer if you can?"

The mass of feather moved. A monstrous crow's foot stepped out as Howl stood up. Sophie climbed onto the talons. Heen jumped on too. Howl spread his wings and took to the air of the early morning. He went, clichéd yes, as the crow flies.

A peculiar shaped pile appeared in the middle of the Waste. A fantastical shape of twisted little towers, rising to one main tower pointed slightly askew, like a knotty old finger. The thing seemed to be made of the yellow-grey grit of the Waste. At Sophie wondered if it might be some strange kind of ants' nest. But as she got nearer, she could see it look as if something fused together thousands of grainy yellow flowerpots into a tapering heap. She grinned. Howl's Castle often struck her as being remarkably like the inside of a chimney. This building looked like a collection of chimney pots. It looked like the work of a fire demon. As they approached closer Sophie noticed its look of overindulgence, waste and superiority. One person above all other to Sophie's mind embodied those. The Witch of the Waste. She tricked her with a henchman acting as a doppelganger. Wormed her way into the Castle and now she would have Markl, Calcifer and Turnip-Head.

Howl landed. Sophie stepped off. He collapsed to the ground and the feather blew off him. Sophie quickly rolled him over onto his back and pushed his hair aside. He looked to merely asleep. Sophie looked from him to the Witch's castle. What do I do? I can't leave him like this. Sal's words came back, she seemed to remember quiet a lot when frantic. She reached into her dress pocket and took out the hourglass. She glanced between it and Howl, Sal said just think of him. She placed the timer on his chest. The sand for some reason did not stir, it eerily defied gravity. Slowly grains started disappearing from the top bulb, not going through the neck to the bottom bulb, just ceasing to be there. Howl stirred. His eyes opened. Sophie leaned closer. "Howl?"

"Sophie," Howl whispered, he sounded drained, but he smiled. "Your hair looks like starlight, it's beautiful," she grinned. "You think so? So, do I," she leaned in and gave him a kiss. His eyes widened. His hands wrapped around her waist. She broke off abruptly. "We need to stop the Witch, she's got Markl and Calcifer and gods knows what she'll do to Turnip-Head?"

"The scarecrow?" she nodded and turned looked up at the door. Heen pawed at them. They opened and Heen rushed behind Sophie. Two gangly all too familiar figures lurched out of the dark space. The Witch's main henchmen. She tried to speak to them politely, to show she did not have any quarrel with them, how could she, they did not truly live according to Wilbert. "Good morning," she said, helping Howl up as he pocketed the hourglass.

They gave her sulky looks. Her second thoughts mutter, about the only look mud can give. One bowed and held out his hand, pointing towards the misshapen dark archway between the bent columns of chimney pots. Sophie glanced at Howl, he gave her an unsure nod. "It looks as if we're expected. I don't think we have much choice," she nodded gummily. He offered his arm and she gladly took it before following the first henchman. Heen scurried behind and the other henchman brought up the rear. And of course, the entrance vanished as soon as they went through it. The two of them would have to deal with the problem when they came back.

Sophie's memory went back to the walk down the alleyway when she first met Howl, a lot changed in the space of a month, but once again they found themselves in a situation orchestrated by the Witch. Walking through the Witch's fortress felt like going through the Castle door on the black setting. A moment of nothingness followed by murky light. The light came from greenish-yellow flames burning and flickered all around, but in a shadowy way which gave no heat and very little light either. When Sophie looked at them, the flames never quite emitted where she looked, always to the side. She shrugged. Always the way with magic. They followed the lanky blob man this way and the other among skinny pillars of the same chimney-pot kind as the rest of the building.

"Sophie," Howl whispered. His spare hand pressed his pocket. "Do you know what that is?" Sophie shook her head. "Sal just gave it to me as something to help you," Howl shuddered slightly. "She'd really sacrifice herself like that?" Sophie blinked, and her eyes widened. "Sacrifice? Howl, what do you mean?" Howl's spare hand went into his pocket and remained there. "This, Sophie, is a life-timer," Sophie gasped. The henchmen at the front stirred, but it did not turn back to look. Sophie's mind picked apart the revelation Howl just gave her.

At length the henchmen led them to a sort of central den. Or maybe just a space between pillars. Sophie became architecturally confused by then. The fortress seemed enormous, though the witch in her suspected a form of deception. The sound of fight suddenly sounded as they passed under the archway. A scythe swung into the front henchman, cutting him into two and the sludge dissipated. Sophie flinched at the scene before her.

The Witch of the Waste, looking halfway to becoming covered in scales fought Miss Susan. The Head Mistress of the Teacher's Guild now look a lot like a heroine, the demi-god her heritage suggested. The appearance of the Witch slithering and scaly made Sophie remember Howl's fight above Ankh-Morpork, and over the past couple of days, Howl, Sal and Wilbert became very cautious with their wording. They must have known about the Miss Throckmorton doppelganger all along, and they did not tell her. Either they must have not wanted to hurt her feelings, or they figured she would work it out. She shook her head internal. Why am I so naïve at times?

As the fight continued Sophie looked about the room. She noticed in a far corner, Wilbert making and maintaining some form of shield spell, blob men pounded at the dome. While Sal, looking rather tired, held tight to Markl. The skull and the harp also sat within the magic circle. Where's Calcifer? Sophie wondered.

A series of clicking sounded from another corner. Sophie's eyes darted sideways to the place of origin. In the other corner stood a seven-foot figure dressed in a rode of absolute darkness. Darker than the nothingness of black door, it just absorbed light completely. Out of one of the crossed sleeve jutted a hand, no, the bones making up the inside of a hand. The figure tips rattled against the covered shoulder down with an unnerving rhythm.

She also saw Calcifer, still as a weak blue flame, sitting on the other shoulder. Heen wormed his way behind the figure as well.

A muttering came from the dark cowl. In truth, it just appeared as a mutter within Sophie's head in a voice like the Voice Miss Susan demonstrated, sounding like the slam of a coffin WITH THE NUMBER OF TIMES, SUSAN'S TAKEN IT WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I AM BEGINNING TO THINK I WILL HAVE TO GIVE HER A SCYTHE OF HER OWN.

"Well?" said a familiar voice. Sophie glanced little more to the left. Chaos stood next to Death. The voice sounded like Mr Soak, and he wore the helmet with the butterfly motif. He also wore an ancient style of armour, in his hand he held an ice sword. Even from this distance away, Sophie could feel the coldness radiating from it. Chaos turned to Death. "Why haven't you done it yet?"

HER FATHER WOULD NEVER HAVE APPROVED. MORTIMER WAS THE ONE MORTAL WHO COULD WIN IN AN ARGUMENT WITH ME.

"Well he can't stop you, now can he? No offence meant. While we got time, I'd like to know one thing. I can get why Pestilence and Famine aren't here, this conflict doesn't call for them, but why's War not here with us?" Death glanced at Chaos and Sophie caught a glimpse of two little blue stars deep within the eye sockets. BECAUSE RONNIE THERE IS STILL A WAR GOING ON OUTSIDE. I THOUGHT YOU KNEW? WE ARE THERE AS WELL AS HERE.

"Well, yeah," Ronnie said. "Just thought he'd be here too," he turned to look at Miss Susan. "You think we should help her?"

NO, Death said grimly, even more grimly. THIS IS SOMETHING SUSAN HAS TO DO, WITHOUT OUR HELP. THIS IS A MORTAL CONCERN. OR MORE ACCURATELY IT CONCERNS A MORTAL.

Miss Susan swung the scythe again. This time it nearly sliced into Sophie and Howl. The teacher paused. "Be careful where you stand," this paused let the Witch to strike. The other henchman became a pure sticky blob. It slurped deceptively fast along the floor grabbed Sophie, Howl and Miss Susan by the ankles and glued them to nearby chimney pot pillar. Miss Susan tried another swing, but the sludge plucked at her hair. She let go of the scythe.

Sophie tried to move. "I'd most rather have the green slime!" she said. "Let us go!"

"No," said the Witch, returning to what she deemed as normal. And she seemed to lose interest in Sophie entirely.

Sophie began to fear, as usual, she made a mess of things. The sticky stuff seemed to be getting harder and more elastic every second. When she tried to move, it snapped her back against the pottery pillar.

The Witch instead swerved up to Howl. "Hello Howl," she smoothed. "I think now we can have that heart to heart talk," she snuggly cackled. "You're sense of timing is quite amazing Howl. When I got the invitation, I could tell Madame Suliman planned to get rid of me, so I made gave a minion a copy of my memories and personality and sent it to its fate. I just wanted Madame Suliman and the King out of my way, but when you sent the tacky little hat shop girl to see Madame Suliman the same time I sent my minion decoy I saw the opportunity of getting a spy into your Castle, I knew I should take it," she chuckled and looked to Miss Susan, "It seems I didn't need you to send the curse after all,"

Miss Susan gave her the look. "Then will you give Imp back?"

"Ah yes, the Llamedos boy with the harp," Miss Susan raised an eyebrow. "He is thirty-eight you know,"

"To me, he's still a boy. Since you're here, and have gone against our little agreement, I think I have the right to tell you, I found a use for your lover boy," she looked to Howl. "I also have a plan for you dear Howl," she glanced at Sophie then to Wilbert and Sal and sniffed. "You people are quite determined to stop me from my goals. First Wizard Suliman would not come near the Waste, so I had to threaten Princess Valeria to make the King order him out here. Then the King would not let Prince Justin follow Suliman for months, and when he did follow, the silly fool went to the Chalk for some reason, and I had to use all my arts to get him here. It wasn't too hard to get Prince Stephen of Strangia here, and I found the Llamedos boy,"

"Miss Susan titled her head. "So, you didn't plan to stumble onto Imp and give him a ride to Cwtch?"

"Plan?" the Witch said offended. "You can't plan for everything. I just see an opportunity, and I take it. I have worked very hard for this moment, and I am not to be argued with."

The Witch made a gesture towards the murky flames. A sort of throne trundled out from the pillars and stopped in front of the Witch. A man sat in it, wearing a green uniform and long, shiny boots. Sophie thought he slept at first, with his head out of sight sideways. But the Witch gestured again. The man sat up straight. He did not have a head on his shoulders at all. Sophie realised she looked at the remains of Prince Justin.

"If I was Fanny," Sophie said, "I'd threaten to faint. Put his head back on at once! He looks terrible like that!"

"I disposed of the parts I didn't need," she looked about the room and fixed on the skull and harp. "I sold Wizard Suliman's skull when I sold the Llamedos boy's harp. Prince Justin's head is walking around somewhere with other leftover parts. This body is a perfect mixture of the Princes, Wizard Suliman and the Llamedos boy," she reached down and took the headless man's hand. "I couldn't help it. But musician's hands can be so, playful," the Witch smiled at Miss Susan's growl and looked to Howl, "It is waiting for your head and heart Howl to make it our perfect human. I seem to have lost the decoy, I've sent out other minions, I'll find it soon enough,"

Sophie glanced to Death. He lowered his head, he permanent smile seemingly formed into a sly grin, a bony finger came to his mouth. A quiet shush, like a dry, decaying wind buzzed in her mind.

The Witch finished. "When I have both, I shall complete my masterpiece. After this war has devastated the two countries we shall have a new king of both nations and I shall rule as queen."

Sophie snapped back, "What about the International Alliance? They'll stop you,"

"Oh, I doubt it, King Rolland and King Benedict will just keep on fighting. And who know? Perhaps the other nations will get draw in and collapse, then I can rule them too," she turned away and wandered off into the murk.

Sophie stared after the overgrown black figure moving among the dim flames. She's crazy! I must get loose and rescue the others, all of them! Remember how the Stick fell victim to the sludge, Sophie needed to be careful. "Get out of it!" she said. "Let me go," her hair dragged painfully, but the stringy black sludge began to fly away sideways. She worked her head and shoulders loose when there came a dull booming sound. The pale flames wavered and the pillar behind Sophie shook. Then, with a crash like a thousand tea sets falling downstairs, a piece of the fortress wall blew out. Light blinded in through a long, jagged hole, and a figure cam leaping in through the opening. The black outline possessed only one leg. Turnip-Head came bouncing in.

Wilbert then did something very strange. He leaned down picked up the skull. Quickly he made an opening in the dome and threw it at the scarecrow. Skull and turnip met, a fizzing jolt of strong magic buzzed about the hall and the skull melted into the turnip head. "Now I can speak." Turnip-Head said in a somewhat mushy voice. He turned to face Sophie. "I must thank you. Sir Benjamin Suliman sent me. He cast all the magic he could spare into me and ordered me to come to his rescue. But the Witch took him to pieces by then, as well as the pieces of the others and put them in various places. Methodically I collected them all bit by bit, it has been a hard task. Sir Benjamin's… My skull was far away, and I ran out of strength before I reached it. I would have laid in that hedge forever if you had not come and talked life into me."

The Witch gave a yell of rage and rushed towards it with her hat flying off and flabby arms stretched out. The scarecrow leaped at her. A violent bang and the two of them became wrapped in a magic cloud, like that cloud over Ankh-Morpork when Howl and the Witch in disguise fought. The cloud battered to-and-fro and filled the air with shrieks and booms. Sophie's hair frizzed. The cloud only yards away, going this way and the next among the pottery pillars. The break in the wall came quite near too, confirming Sophie's thought about the fortress's size. Every time the cloud moved across the blinding white gap, she could see two figures, one skinny and the other unimaginably fat, seething and scaly.

She loosened herself expect for her legs when the cloud screamed across in front of the light one more time. As she slowly worked her way out she thought about Turnip's words. So, when Prince Justin ordered the finding spells, they must have pointed to Turnip-Head, to the Skull. She glanced to Heen hiding behind Chaos's heal and shivering. And Heen is made of the Wizard Suliman, the Princes and Imp y Celyn. How's Lettie going to take this? And being full of magic would explain how Turnip-Head produced the Stick and the umbrella from nowhere.

Sophie worked got her legs free. Miss Susan stared. "How did you do that?" Sophie shrugged. "I think I spoke magic into the blob, I told it to let go of me and my magic won out," Miss Susan titled her head with an annoyed look mainly aimed at herself. "It was really that simple?" she looked down at the sludge bounds. LET US GO AND DON'T COME BACK," she said firmly. The sludge ran away. Howl collapsed to the floor. The life-timer rolled onto the floor.

Miss Susan picked up the scythe and ran into the cloud. Sophie remained with Howl. Tried to pick up the life-timer, but it rolled towards Death. "Howl!" Sophie pleaded.

A scream came from the cloud. It moved again and, in its wake, left a familiar figure. The old Witch slumped and unmoving. However, the fighting continued as a new figure replaced the Witch and tore Turnip-Head to pieces. Out of the cloud jumped the new figure. Red, scaly with leathery bat-like wings. Gender wise, quite ambiguous, the creature looked male, female and neither all at the same time. Sophie guessed. The demon of greed. She figured a demon about greed and desire would not want to be only one gender. She scowled at it. "The Witch is dead,"

"Isn't that too bad!" the demon said, quite unconcerned. "Now I can make myself a new human who will be much better. The curse is fulfilled, earlier than expected. Throckmorton did have her cunning instincts, such a good choice. I can lay hands on Howell Jenkins's heart now," it turned to the corner with Death and Chaos. It swaggered over looked Death in the eye socket. "You can't interfere. That's universal law. And that means your scythe won't hurt me," and then to Chaos. "And you've got no power in the demonic realms. Pandemonium is so well organised, and as a servant of it you have no power over me." It plucked Calcifer off Death's shoulder. Calcifer wobbled on top of the clenched fist looking terrified. "Nobody moves," the greed demon said warningly.

Nobody dared stir. "Help!" Calcifer called weakly.

"Nobody can help you," the demon said. "You are going to help me control a new human. Let me show you. I have only to tighten my grip." The hand holding Calcifer squeezed until its knuckles showed pale yellow.

Howl and Calcifer both screamed. Calcifer beat back and forth in agony. Howl's face turned bluish. Sophie did not think he breathed.

The demon became astonished. It stared at Howl. "He's faking,"

"No, he's not!" Calcifer screamed, twisted into a writhing spiral shape. "His heart's really quite soft! Let go!"

Sophie looked about. "Something, anything, beat the demon up!" a muffled tapping came from beside her. "As you wish ma'am," before Sophie could say anything the ghost of the Stick swung and hit the demon's tight knuckles with the biggest crack she ever heard.

The demon let out a squealing hiss like a wet log burning and dropped Calcifer. Poor Calcifer rolled across the floor, flaming sideways. The demon raised a foot to stamp on him. The ghost of the Stick hit the demon over and over many times. The demon hissed and staggered. Sophie dived to rescue Calcifer. The fire demon did not seem hot. His milky blue flame shook. Sophie could feel the dark lump of Howl's heart only beating very faintly between her fingers.

A scream caught attention. "No!" yelled the greed demon. Markl and Wilbert manhandled it into the magic circle. Sal jumped out as the demon replaced her, the Research Witch stumbled to her knees. The ghost of the Stick beat the greed demon on the head and it hit the ground. Wilbert and Markl escaped the circle and the demon reformed trapping the demon. Markl looked to Wilbert worried. "It won't get out, will it?" Wilbert rolled his eyes. "I did say I trained at the Department of Post-Mortem Communication, exorcism is a forte," the demon tried to bang at the dome. But the inner circle of symbols made a massive magic discharge at it. For a moment its form changed, from a demon to large rubber duck with sunglasses and back again. Markl burst out laughing. Wilbert smirked. "It won't try that again, too embarrassing. Dr Hix was very proud when I demonstrated it to the senior faculty," he then rolled his eyes and grumbled, "but the paperwork went missing,"

Sophie took this opportunity to make things right. No time to waste. "Calcifer?" she asked. The eyes looked up at here wearily. "Sophie I'm so tired,"

"If I give Howl back his heart, what will happen to you?" the fire demon looked unsure, but he said, "I'll be okay if you do it, I think. I mean you dumped water onto me and Howl and I both survived. That's why I asked you to break the contract. I could tell you could talk life into things. Look what you did for the scarecrow, the skull and the Stick," he sighed. "For once I had a friend I could talk to all day,"

Sophie looked around and saw Death taking hold of the Stick and it fade. Sophie smiled sadly as well. "I'm going to miss the Stick too. But I don't have the heart to replace it, and right now, Howl doesn't have a heart at all. I'd better try then," she brought Calcifer and Howl's heart closer to her own. The heartbeat increased. Sophie smiled assured. "It's so warm," she said. "And fluttering like a bird,"

"It's still just the heart of a child," Calcifer explained. Sophie spoke aloud, "Please, help Calcifer live, and please help Howl take back his heart," she willed very hard as she lowered the heart to Howl's chest. "Calcifer, have another thousand years," she passed the heart down and she felt it sink. The blue flames spread around her hands and through her fingers.

A moments stillness.

Sparks of multicoloured magic shot out from the area of Howl's chest. A light accumulated and passed through Sophie's hand. Everyone awakened watched as the little star started to dart around. Calcifer's voice came from it, "I'm alive!" he said excitedly. He spun around Sophie, Markl, Sal, Wilbert and Heen. "Look I'm free!" he laughed before spiralling up through the hall and presumably out the topmost chimney pot.

Sophie returned to Howl, Markl came running beside her. Howl coughed with a twitch. Markl smiled. "He moved!"

"Well," Wilbert said, glancing at the imprisoned demon. "Now we have a bit of a respite until Howl wakes up, I have a small matter of business," he helped Sal up. Holding her up they carefully walked over to Death. Sal smiled. Slowly bent down and picked her life-timer up. She looked at Death cheerfully. "Hello skellington," Death deflated. I DO WISH YOU WOULD STOP CALLING ME THAT.

Miss Susan walked up with the scythe and handed back to him. "You know Miss Lifton, grandfather?"

YES. I WILL EXPLAIN LATER. Death turned to Wilbert. YOU WISH SOMETHING OF ME, DR WEATHERWAX? Wilbert nodded. "I do," he looked from Sal to Howl. "Sal sacrificed a bit of her time keep Howl alive. I want to give Sal some of my time, so that we can be together as long as we can," Sal looked at him astonished. "Wilbert?" she whispered.

YOU DO RELEASE THE IMPLICATIONS OF WHAT YOU ASK ME? I TEND TO BE VERY SERIOUS. Wilbert nodded again. "We were practically born together. I'm want to spend the rest of my life with her," he glanced down to Sal. "If you want that of course," she smiled. "I want to marry you Wilbert Weatherwax, of course I want to as well,"

VERY WELL, Death took out another life-timer from his robes. Made of a red wood and of a standard size for an hourglass. He held out his other hand. Sal put her life-timer in the open bone palm. Death held to two hourglasses up at equal height. Slowly he brought them together. They shimmered as they grew nearer. Sides touched and fused. The sizes equalised. A red wood hourglass with gold stands rested in Death's write hand. The engraving proclaimed: _Wilbert Eldridge Weatherwax, Sal Octavia Lifton_. Death put the hourglass into his cloak. YOU'RE LIVES ARE NOW ONE. IT IS UP TO YOU TO MAKE IT A GOOD ONE.

Wilbert and Sal held each other. She leaned her head on his shoulders. He leaned his head on hers.

Howl stirred. His head rose slowly, and his eyes opened. "What's going on?" he shook his head "I think I've got a hangover,"

"No," Sophie said. "You must have hit you head on the floor," Howl flinched. "I feel terrible. Like there's a terrible weight on my chest," Sophie smiled. "A heart's a heavy burden," she gave him a peak on the lips. The two looked into each other's eyes.

Someone cleared their throat. The two turned. Miss Susan stood with her arms crossed. "I'm sorry for breaking up this romantic moment," she pointed to the trapped greed demon, "We still have _that_ to sort out," Howl nodded and started to get up. Sophie allowed him to lean on her as they walked over. Wilbert joined them. The demon shrived, and something rolled from its hand. It could have been a lump of cinder, expect for being the same shape as the thing Sophie just pushed into Howl's chest. The demon whined like a wet fire and held out its arms imploringly as far as it dared.

"I'm afraid not," Howl said. "You've had your time. By the look of things, you were trying to get a new heart too. You were going to take my heart and let Calcifer die, weren't you?" the demon remained silent. Howl turned to Wilbert. "You're the expect at exorcism, you must know what to do," Wilbert smirked. "While the Witch and Miss Susan fought before you and Sophie got here, I made the magic circle so to exorcise this demon of greed and undo the effects of her magic, deliverance of the demon's influence is a common part of the process after all," he cleared his throat. Held his staff up, his coat became caught by an undetected wind. Static magic sparks jumped from his finger.

In the far corner, Death clutched his skull and groaned, OH, _DRAMA_...

Undeterred Wilbert proclaimed, "I cast you out, unclean spirit! Begone and fly far! Never tempt us with your vanities! What you offer us is evil! Drink the poison yourself." He then stood more normally and added, "Next time you come here, be a bit more helpful to humanity," he retook his pose and finished, "Back! Once more the void from whence you came!" The demon shrieked and faded. From behind Wilbert, Sal added, with stifled giggles, "Run along!"

The old Witch's heart crumbled into dust.

Then the fortress started shaking. Pieces of terracotta crashed to the floor and faded. Markl looked about worried. "Should we run?"

NO, Death said firmly. THIS IS BUT THE PASSING OF GREED.

All around them the fortress faded away. Revealing a peaceful morning sky over the Waste. Something became apparent. The moment the demon disappeared, the remains of Turnip-Head, Heen and the incomplete body of the prefect man no longer existed. If Sophie cared to look, she would have seen four tall men standing there. The two princes, one in a green uniform, the other in a fine cream suit and white top hat, shook hands. Imp y Celyn picked up his harp and gave it a strum, before Miss Susan ran into his arms.

Sir Benjamin Suliman on the other hand. He walked a little way away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crystal ball.

On the other side Madame Suliman smiled. "Benjamin," she said warmly. "You don't know how glad I am to see you back to normal. Has everything turned out all right?" her son turned sideways to show his Mother the scene.

Howl, Sophie, Wilbert, Sal and Markl stood watching as Death mounted his white horse and rode into the sky, followed by Chaos in his chariot, and they waved as Miss Susan and Imp rode off on Viarion. Prince Stephen shook hands with Prince Justin before pulled a long pole from his pocket. Madame Suliman contained her emotions as she noticed how Howl and Sophie occupied a separate part of the universe. "Howl found his true love. Maybe now he should find himself a proper job, perhaps as a Royal Wizard," Benjamin rolled his eyes and turned to look. Prince Stephen started hoping away across the air on the stick. The image in the glass faded. Madame Suliman sighed. Things did not turn out quite as she expected, but maybe it would be for the best, she never planned for any of this.

After all, you couldn't plan for every eventuality, because that would involve knowing what would happen, and if you knew what would happen, you could probably see to it didn't, or at least happened to someone else. So, Madame Suliman never planned. Plans so often got in the way.

Now Ingary needed to broker a peace. She smiled. "The game is over," she turned to the pageboy present. "Get me the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defence. It's time to put an end to this idiotic war," her servant bowed. "Yes ma'am,"

The servant returned sooner than expected. "Excuse me, Madame Suliman," he started acting very nervous "but a Professor Eskarina Smith is here to talk to you,"

* * *

Benjamin walked up to Howl. "Well then, Pendragon," he said. "What happens now? I know the Prince and I will need to return to Kingsbury as soon as possible. What about you?" Howl shrugged. "I don't know, my Castle is in pieces, we're in the middle of the Waste and all we have is one broomstick," Howl turned to Sophie and their eyes met.

"And a sixth level wizard," Wilbert added. Sal tilted her head. "Why don't we go to Lancre, Sophie's family should be there."

Markl suddenly shouted, "Hey! It's Calcifer!"

Indeed, a star flew towards them. Howl turned and looked at his old friend. "You didn't have to comeback, Calcifer." Sophie stepped forward and reached for the star. The fire demon flickered alight in her cupped hands. "I kind of missed you guys. And it looks like it's going to rain," Sophie smiled. "I missed you too, Calcifer," she gave him a small kiss. And the fire demon flared into a blush.

* * *

 **Sorry for being a few days late with publishing this chapter, but events and other project made me forget myself.**

 **We have one last epilogue chapter. But I hope this story made sense.**

 **The passing of greed line comes from the Chaplin's speech in _The Great Dictator_ I just thought it would be appropriate.**

 **See you at the epilogue.**


	26. Epilogue

Over the proceeding months from the July of 2007 UC to Hogswatch Day 2008, the International Alliance and the Kingdoms of Ingary and Strangia meet in Sto Helit. Most of the discussions during the Congress of Sto Helit, occurred in informal, face-to-face sessions among the Great Powers. Ankh-Morpork, Überwald, Genua, Quirm, Borogravia, Lancre, the Low Queen of the Dwarfs and the Diamond King of Trolls among them.

In the evening parties for the delegates and their retinues helped keep the members fine. Along with the peace talks, international laws got scribed and sighed, Commander Vimes due to his slightly haphazard handwriting, wrote the largest signature. Among these laws included the ban of magic in warfare. Unseen and Brazeneck Universities, the Royal Sorcery Academy and a few transfer students from various other magical institutions including, Chubb, Unki, QIS and Bugarup also signed the agreement of interference without permission, safe in the knowledge no one would ask them. The fact most of these other magical institutions were represented by one Professor Bengo Macarona did not seem to unset anyone, nor his behaviour.

The gremlins got officially recognised as people. And Lord Vetinari and Commander Vimes gave them the offer of forming the Transport Police Department. Other employment offers came from the companies also employing goblins and golems, such as the Grand Trunk, Harry King and the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway.

During the festivities people noted the Kings of Ingary and Strangia dancing with each other's queens. Lord Vetinari on several occasions danced with Lady Margolotta von Überwald. Queen Keli of Sto Lat, Protector of the Eight Protectorates and Empress of the Long Thin Debated Piece Hubwards of Sto Kerrig, exclusively danced with her husband Igneous. And the Duchess of Sto Helit herself would not dance with anyone other than a man from Llamedos, when he did not conduct the music, and the Duchess would intervene with any woman talking longingly at him. Nanny Ogg of Lancre went to town with many of the senior faculties and entertained guest with a song about a hedgehog. The _Ankh-Morpork Times_ took exclusive coverage of the meetings, Lord William de Worde got iconographed dancing with his shapely top reporter. A family from Market Chipping witnessed the events. Including the appointment of Howell Jenkins, native of Cwtch, Llamedos, PhD Anthropology (Pantygirdl University), BA Magic (Royal-SA), as the Royal Wizard Pendragon.

* * *

The last of the bombers returned home with released prisoners of war. Above them over the thick white clouds emerged the Castle in the Air. A little smaller than Howl's Moving Castle, but suitable for everyone. Markl and Martha played in the garden at the back. The two decided to wait until the end of their apprenticeships before furthering their relationship. Calcifer, now free to come and go watched them contently.

A floor below on a balcony Wilbert and Sal held each other's hands as they compared notes.

And on the front most viewing balcony, Sophie looked out dressed in a smart new yellow dress and wide brimmed white hat, one of her one making, with the badge displaying the love knot with needle, the symbol of the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Needlewomen, invented just to further confuse them with the Seamstresses, as a choker. She turned to the Wizard Pendragon, and the patent owner of the patented Parkyn-Pendragon Steam Generator. Already the licensing made their bank account bulge. On top of this, Sophie decided to reopen the hat shop, as the boss, and as work, not as her life.

But for Sophie this did not matter, she felt confident in herself, and in Howl as their eyes meet. Witch and wizard shared a kiss.

The family of friends sailed on towards the rest of their lives.

* * *

 **Well, roughly three months of my life went into this. This must be one of my favourite projects.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this one too. Until I see you. Farewell dear friends.**


End file.
